#One will set their mind to what the 'truth' is and refuse to see it any other way. That their perspective is the only correct one.

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒─

Warnings/MDNI: Slight fluff, angst, abuse , reader being called names e.g. harlot // I don't condone such beheviour irl! ✰ 9K

★ Prev I concept m.list

Two weeks had passed...The mornings at camp always began too early for your liking, the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks of the canvas tent like unwelcome intruders.

You had grown up in silk and lace, with meals served on porcelain , peaceful, and quiet environments. Now, you woke to the distant clatter of pots and pans, the sharp bark of someone’s laughter cutting through the cold morning air, and the unfamiliar scratch of coarse blankets that smelled faintly of damp wood and tobacco smoke.

Suki, your beloved, was your only source of comfort. Her soft purrs against your chest at night were a balm to your wounded spirit. She stayed close to you, a reminder of the life you’d left behind. But there was also the reality laying behind you...his snores making you remain awake. Awake to the new truth, the bitter truth.

Arthur brought you food without asking if you were hungry. He made sure your tent was stocked with rations, even as the others made do with far less. His instructions were on the second morning when you still couldn't process anything. Just more control disguised as care.

Don't walk to the river alone

Don't even think about walking too far from camp. (as if you can even walk to the stables...considering the tight watch on you from him and the men)

Don't get out of the tent at night for unnecessary reasons.

Stay in the tent when strangers come to camp.

If anyone gives you trouble, you come to me, not Hosea, not Dutch, just me.

Keep your voice down, no one needs to hear you arguing with me. (which must be a joke--because....what? Not happening.)

Don't do any hard labor around. For anyone. No matter what anyone says.

"Don’t need you breaking a nail." The words stung, a bitter reminder of the prison disguised as protection. The audacity to say that after shattering your whole life.

What a gentleman.

But you didn’t let it touch you.

When he handed you a plate of food, you ate in silence, your expression unreadable. When he tried to drape his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, you shrugged it off the moment his back was turned. Always facing the canvas wall and not him at night and shivering with fear. Sleep never came easy for you. And when Arthur left the camp, you felt Bill’s eyes on you, not subtle in the least, his broad figure often leaning against a post or pretending to tend to some task, but always nearby. It wasn’t protection, it was surveillance.

You didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or cry or beg. You knew it wouldn’t work. You’d seen the set of his jaw, the steel in his eyes that said he wasn’t letting go. So, you resisted in the only way you could, being quiet and in your shell. Inside the prison.

A cold silence when he spoke. A pointed look when he tried to touch you. A refusal to acknowledge the small gestures he thought would win you over.

Arthur didn’t say much about your resistance, but you could see it in the way his hands tightened into fists when you ignored him, in the way his jaw clenched when you sat stiffly beside him at the fire (which he dragged you to) , not saying a word. Not exactly a picture perfect newly wed couple others hoped. Or perhaps he lived in the delusion of.

When Grimshaw came by, she didn’t carry the same judgment as the others. Her tone, usually sharp and commanding, softened around you. Once, she even sat beside you, her hands busy mending a shirt as she said, almost too casually, "It gets easier. This life, I mean. Not right away, but… it does."

You didn’t reply, but she didn’t seem to mind. Grimshaw didn’t push; instead, she surprised you with an unexpected patience. She offered small gestures of comfort, a steaming cup of herbal tea to "settle your nerves," as she put it. Or heating up some water for you to freshen up.

Her vigilance extended even to the simplest of tasks, like when you went to use the girls’ makeshift toilet/bathroom. It was yet another struggle, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen. Gone were the days of soaking luxuriously in your own bathtub. Now, even basic necessities felt like a downgrade.

Every now and then, she’d drop off chores she thought were manageable, like sorting linens or cleaning a few utensils, tasks that didn’t require you to step far from your tent. “Something to keep your mind busy,” she’d say, leaving before you could refuse.

You hated how grateful you felt for her small kindnesses, didn't actually mind it, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When you’d reluctantly finished the tasks she left, there was a quiet understanding in the way she’d nod at you from across the camp or leave another small task the next day. It was the closest thing to routine you’d found here.

Still, even her attempts to draw you out fell flat most days. You could see the pity in her eyes, the way she lingered as though waiting for you to say something , anything , but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Even when she tried to talk about mundane things, like camp chores or the horses, complaining about men here, all you could do was nod or mutter a half-hearted reply.

The girls would occasionally stop by, trying to talk to you or cheer you up, asking questions to piece together fragments of your life. But their curiosity, their attempts to connect, never went far. You rarely engaged, and when you did, it was clipped, distant. You didn’t miss the taunts about your so-called "lavish" past either, were they innocent jabs or something more bitter? You couldn’t tell, and truthfully, you didn’t care.

You would never trust these people. Not after everything. And then there was this incident with Mary Beth, on what? The third day? You don't even fucking remember. You came to know about her calling this all..... "romantic" as if sprinkling more salt on your wounds and you lost it.

The night had been calm, the campfire casting a warm glow while everyone gathered for supper. Mary-Beth sat on her usual spot, her knees tucked under her as she read, her face serene.

Before she even realized it, her book was in your hands, and then, rip. Pages tore from their spine, fluttering like wounded birds to the ground.

"Romantic, huh? This is what you read?! The fuckin' nerve of you. You think this is all fun?! LOOK AT ME!" you screamed, your voice shaking as you threw the remains of her book aside and grasped her face making her freeze in fear and shock. "AM I FUCKING PRANCING AROUND HERE, GIGGLING?!"

"Hey! I-what-"

Before she could get a word out, Tilly stepped between you, untangling you, her hands raised, her tone firm but careful. "We didn’t mean it like that-she didn’t mean it like that. Trust me. We were just talking-"

"Then don’t fucking talk about me!" you snapped, now turning to her. "Don’t even DARE! How dare you all even think that?! Only people like you can celebrate such a shit and cruel tradition! Bunch of morons!"

You didn’t care how you looked, wild-eyed, trembling, growling like a maniac. You didn’t care about the stares or the silence that followed, broken only by your ragged breathing. You now grabbed Tilly's arms shaking her. "Nobody here should even say my name out of your nasty TONGUES! I'll kill someone if I hear such shit again. YOU HEAR ME?!" Your voice echoed across the camp, sharp and seething with fury. Then a strong hand clamped around your arm. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Arthur.

"That’s enough."

"Let go of me! ASSHOLE!" you hissed, trying to wrench free.

But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, and with one sharp tug, he spun you around and started dragging you back toward the tent.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Enough!" He shoved the flap open and all but pushed you inside, stepping in after you and yanking the flap closed again.

"You done now?" he asked, his voice quieter but no less sharp.

"FUCK OFF! I HATE YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

The tears were already spilling over, and before he could say another word, you threw yourself under the covers of your bedding, burying your face in the fabric as the sobs came harder, relentless.

Arthur stood there momentarily, his hand falling to his side, unsure whether to press or leave you alone. He sighed his jaw tightening as he turned away. He wasn’t going far though. Not tonight.

And then days passed in cold, depressive silence from you until last night...

The cot creaked under the weight of his broad frame as Arthur lay down beside you, the narrow space forcing his presence against yours. His arm brushed against your shoulder, and though he made no move to pull you closer, the heat of him was impossible to ignore. You lay stiff as a board, your back turned to him, your entire body practically vibrating with anger and fear.

The tent was dark except for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the canvas. Outside, the muffled voices of the gang were distant and always the same to you.

“Y’ain’t gonna say a damn thing, huh?” His voice broke the silence, low and raspy, laced with irritation.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t answer. The effort to stay silent was exhausting.

Arthur shifted beside you, making the whole cot shake in protest. “You’ve been mad at me for days now. Hell, darlin’, I’m startin’ to think you enjoy it,” he said, his tone teasing, yet tired.

Your fists balled up under the blanket, your nails digging into your palms. You stared at the canvas wall ahead of you, refusing to dignify him with a response. The fucking audacity of this monster.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “This ain’t gonna fix anything, y’know. You bein’ all cold and quiet. It ain’t gonna change what’s done. If I could’ve done it different, I would’ve. But I can’t. And I ain’t lettin’ you go."

His words made your blood boil. What’s done?? As if he hadn’t ripped your life from you like a thief in the night.

"Go to sleep." you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the dark like a knife.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, humorless and rough. "Now, that’s the first word you’ve said to me in forever," he drawled, the smirk clear in his voice. "Progress, I guess."

You bit your lip almost to the point of eating it off.

He shifted again, his arm brushing against your waist under the blanket to which you immediately moved even further away if that was even possible. The casual contact felt intentional, as if he was testing you.

"You’ll get tired of this eventually," he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Can’t keep runnin’ on anger forever."

Shut the fuck up already.

You wanted to tell him he didn’t know the half of it. That he didn’t understand just how deep your resentment ran. But instead, you stayed silent.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "Be mad all you want. I ain’t goin’ anywhere...I ain’t good at this, I’ll admit it. But if you think I don’t care, you’re wrong."

And with that, he settled in, his arm resting just barely against your back. Even as your eyes burned with unshed tears, you stared into the dark, resolute.

And as if matters weren’t bad enough, someone else decided to get under your skin.

Marston.

Of all people decided to bother you today for the first time since you arrived as he wasn't at the camp before. The man you assumed wouldn’t even remember your name with the peanut-sized brain he seemed to possess.

"Came back as a Morgan now, huh? Well, I’ll be damned," he said with a whistle, his voice dripping with mock surprise. He stood outside your tent, leaning against one of the poles, his arms crossed as if he had the right to judge. "Honestly, I’m shocked. Didn’t think anyone could tie down Arthur. But not completely shocked it turned out to be...you. So childhood love, eh? And he did the word....damn. First in our gang. Shit, I missed it all.."

Your teeth clenched at his smug tone. The insinuation was too much. You shot up from the cot, the anger bubbling over as you shoved him back.

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic piece of shit."

"Whoa there!" he said, stepping back with a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Still no manners, huh? Well, if you’re gonna live here, might as well start being nice to your brother-in-law. Oh, it's going to be much more fun annoying you now.'

That smug wheeze of his was the final straw. Your hand shot to the nearest object on the small table a tin cup and you hurled it at him. He ducked, barely missing it, his laughter only growing louder.

"Rich words coming from a man who still has to pay women just to glance at him. Exactly what I envisioned you’d grow up to be, John. You didn’t disappoint."

His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back, shaking his head with a low, humorless chuckle. "Same ol’ spoiled you, huh? Guess some things never change."

"And some people never grow up."

"You think you’re better than us? Look around at where you are. To end up here, with him... surely you must’ve been no less than a harlot yoursel--HEY! GET OFF ME!"

"Complete it! Go on, I dare you, asshole!" He tried to shove you off, but the moment your grip loosened on his collar, you struck, delivering a sharp smack across his face.

"YOU LITTLE-"

"John!" Dutch’s voice boomed from his tent across the way. "Go do something productive! Leave the girl alone. NOW!"

John froze, his lips tightening as he registered the command. "…What? I was just greeting her. Y’know...family and all.'' He let out a defeated snort, shoulders slumping, and muttered something under his breath as he sauntered off.

You didn’t bother watching him leave. With a huff, you grabbed the tent flaps and yanked them shut, the fabric swishing angrily in your hands. You flopped back down onto the cot, the reality of everything crashing into you again.

Tears blurred your vision as they spilled freely, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself, swaying back and forth.

(Y/N) Morgan.

Harlot.

(Y/N) Morgan....

Harlot.

The words kept burning like acid.

No matter what they do, I get blamed?! Of course. Another Saturday being a woman.

Pieces of shit, dirt.

Absolutely the fuck not.

You clenched your jaw, wiping at your cheeks harshly. Don’t let a loser’s words get to you, you told yourself, trying to drown out the echo of John’s taunting voice and your own festering anger.

You are , yes , still are more accomplished and better than anyone here. Not a thief, not a murderer and definitely not a harlot.

But deep down, it wasn’t just John’s words that haunted you. It was everything, the name, the camp, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in someone else’s world.

You will always be (Y/N) (L/N), fuck this tradition. It means nothing.

❀˖°

"Finish this. C’mon."

He held the spoon in his calloused hand, leaning closer. You turned away, clutching Suki tightly to your chest, her soft fur grounding you.

'Why can't he just get lost in a ditch somewhere? Why does he keep coming back? Why doesn't death encounter him with all the dangerous shit he does?'

Should you tell him about John calling you names- NO. You don't need him to deal with your problems, as he would have done if you both were young. You don't need anyone's help.

"I ain’t bringing these for free, y’know. So they ain't gonna rot, you are gonna finish them."

"I didn’t ask you to," you snapped.

"Good thing I ain’t waitin’ for permission, huh? So yeah, I’ll keep doing it anyway because it's my duty."

Your grip on Suki tightened as you turned to glare at him. "I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Arthur. Trying to create this illusion, ‘Oh, look at me, I’m bringing her fruit and meat so she’ll forget what I did.’ No, Arthur. It doesn’t work that way. None of this is worth anything. It’s not going to reverse anything, not even come close to the comfort I had."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze darkening further. "I don’t care what you think or had. This is your fucking life now. Why do I have to keep reminding you , huh?!." he growled low, his voice like a warning rumble of thunder. "Don’t piss me off more right now. Eat. It. Right. Now."

You held his glare for a moment, your hands trembling with restrained anger as you snatched the fruit plate from him and placed it on your lap. You didn’t touch it, though not with him standing there like some damn lieutenant, watching your every move. But thankfully he went away, probably to freshen up.

You take a few hesitant bites. Your thoughts drift to your family, mother, father, and brother. What might they be doing right now? Are they sitting down to supper together, or is your absence too heavy to ignore? Your work, you miss going to the office with your father. And Omar, is he well? You prayed for him daily. His family? Well, they must be cursing you. Your heart broke that they might be regretting the whole engagement and calling you names too. Is your father doing anything!? Is he trying to find a way to bring you back? He must be. He should be.

But every time you let yourself believe in that fragile hope, Dutch’s cold, calculated words clawed their way back into your mind.

"And you damn well know that even if the law gets here, they won’t care about this. It’s only a crime on paper… in reality, the sheriffs and marshals? They won’t lift a finger. They don’t give a damn about this."

If that’s really true, then… is this it? Is this your life now?

No.

Money can turn heads, grease palms, and open doors. If your family offered enough, those same indifferent lawmen would find a needle in a haystack if it suited them. And your family? They don’t lack for that.

But your reputation.

Your hands trembled, clutching Suki closer as the tears threatened to spill again. The voice in your head....why doesn't it go away...?

No. No, I didn’t lose anything. I don’t give a fuck. Let people think and talk all they want. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last. They always need something to talk about.

You exhale sharply, forcing the tears away as though the pain will evaporate with them.

And once you get back, no, once you’re free, you won’t stay in this Godforsaken country anyway. Neither will your family. Let this place rot. It doesn’t deserve you. It's hurt you enough.

Another thought had been gnawing at the edges of your mind, something your ears had picked up unintentionally the other morning.

Pinkertons.

You knew about the agency hell, Arthur had mentioned them in passing during one of your 'old' meetings, which were just distant unreal memories to you now. A band of relentless hunters after outlaws, but they weren’t saints themselves. You remembered your father’s words about them, greedy, opportunistic, willing to do anything if the price was right.

Mhm...

Your attention snapped back to the present as a heavy presence settled beside you on the cot.

Suki leapt off your lap, stretching lazily before sauntering off. Almost as if she held the same disdain for his presence. Ain't she your good girl.

You felt his eyes on you, his silent scrutiny made your skin crawl, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted another bite to your mouth, not because you were hungry or needed the sustenance, but because you didn’t want to engage with him again.

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line as he took another bite of his meal, his gaze flicking to you out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he minded bringing the food from the fire or making sure you didn’t waste away, but the whispers and sidelong glances from the other men by the fire in camp grated on him.

"Our boy got himself a pretty little wife now."

"Maybe she’s got you on a leash, huh? How’s it feel, boy?"

"Careful, Arthur, don’t forget to tuck her in tonight."

"What kind of outlaw plays house, huh? Real sweet, Morgan."

The words clung to the air like the smoke from their cigarettes, thick with mockery and amusement. Arthur didn’t flinch at their jabs, but he didn’t rise to them either. As for the additional rations and snacks, he brought them in secret, stashing them away like contraband treasures. Caring for his wife, it seemed, was a sin in their eyes, an act that invited ridicule from men who barely knew the meaning of responsibility, let alone love. He couldn’t give you the life you once had, not completely, but he could offer enough to make you forget it or at least dull the ache of its absence. Spoil you rotten in his own way. And if it meant robbing, killing, or bleeding himself dry until his last breath, then so be it.

Because you were his, and no one, not Dutch, not the gang, not even the damned world, and even you, could take that from him.

He told himself it didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t ignore the edge in their voices. Greed? Jealousy, maybe. Or perhaps they just didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom why he’d go to these lengths. Arthur didn’t need their approval. Let them talk. They always yap. They’d never have what he has, even if you still looked at him with cold disdain and fear.

But his pride did bristle every time someone insinuated he was soft as if keeping you... alive and halfway sane somehow made him weak.

And then there was you. Lost...and yet fighting. He wanted to snap at you, to force you to listen to him for once, but he knew how that would end. Another night of tears, of you retreating further into yourself, and him sitting outside the tent wondering what he was doing wrong.

What he in fact, did wrong.

Damn it.

Hell, he still felt shit for leaving you tied up on the cot on the first night for hours to teach you some lesson, which resulted in bruises on your wrist which he could still spot under your sleeves. He was indeed totally lost that day.

He looked down at his plate, then at you, the frustration in his chest threatening to boil over. But beneath it, buried deep where even he didn’t like to look, was something else.

Guilt.

He didn’t miss the way your hands trembled slightly when you reached for another bite, or the shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before all this. If you’d let him, he’d feed you himself daily. If he had all the time in the world, he’d spend it making amends, caring for you, pampering you from head to toe, and trying to piece together what he’d broken. You were different now. Smaller, quieter....almost soulless. He missed your laugh, jokes, and teasing that could pull a grin from even the most miserable bastard. The light in your eyes...

He craved what any man would, a wife waiting for him, dolled up or simply present, a comforting sight to return to after long days. He remembered his mother doing just that, though his father had been far from the best. Well… that was another story.

Sometimes, the thought crossed his mind to demand it, to make you adorn yourself as he wished. But again, he didn’t want your compliance born of fear, he wanted it to come from you, willingly...which only felt like a dream.

Snap out of it. Don't let this get to you. It's done. And sooner or later she'll come around. She has no other choice.

Even going on jobs in these two weeks felt different now. Before, his concerns were solely for the gang, their survival, their next meal. But now, you were part of the equation. You weren’t just another responsibility, you were something altogether separate, fragile in a way that set him on edge. He had to think of you, your safety, your future.

And yet, every morning, he pressed a kiss to your head, as quietly and discreetly as he could, fearing you’d stir. It was a small, selfish ritual, one that whispered his own fears. What if he didn’t come back one day? What if everything he’d done, the risks taken, the damn word, ended up being for nothing?

But you, in your own quiet way, were a motivation too....as in your mere existence back at the camp in his tent made him stronger.

"Finish the damn fruit," he muttered finally, his tone softer now, though still edged with irritation. "I’ll be back in a few with the stew. But don’t get comfortable thinkin’ this is how it’s gonna be. If I ain’t lettin’ you work for others, that sure as hell doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna do my work and your own. Ya' ain't gonna be cooped up here as some princess forever."

You glanced at him, finally breaking your silence, though your voice dripped with venom. "Your work? O-h, you mean cooking your food, cleaning up after you, and playing the perfect little captive wife?. Should I start callin’ you ‘sir’ while I’m at it?"

"You’re real good at smartin’ off, but I don’t care if you’re mad, this ain’t a damn vacation."

"Mad? Oh no, Arthur, I’m thrilled. Thrilled that you think you can steal my life and then bark orders like I’m some ranch hand. I am not doing shit for you or anyone."

Arthur’s gaze darkened, his hand tightening around his fork. "You think I like this? I don’t. But it’s better than sittin’ here wasting away. You think I stole your life? Maybe I did. But I’m tryin’ to keep you in it."

You leaned back against the cot sighing in disbelief at his words. "If you wanted a servant, you should’ve hired one. But I guess stealing a wife was cheaper, huh? And I don't care about wasting away. Sounds a thousand times better than whatever this is. I'd rather die-"

"Watch your mouth, woman." His hand as on it's own shot out to your chin giving a reprimanding shake.

"Why? Bec-ause I didn’t like losing my freedom either, but here we are. And I am not scared of you Arthur...you already showed the worst of yourself. I won't be surprised if it gets worse than this."

For once, he didn’t respond. He stood, his boots scuffing the ground as he left the tent in utter silence which you smelled as guilt but does it change anything for you? No. Does it make him take you back? No. Then fuck him.

❀˖°

The faint orange hues of dawn barely began creeping over the horizon when a rough hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked up at the shadowed figure looming over you, the faint smell of tobacco and leather unmistakable.

"Get up," Arthur’s voice was low but urgent, a gruff whisper that didn’t match the stillness of the early morning.

You groaned, clutching the blanket tighter around you. "Wha-?"

"We’re movin’," he said, already turning away to toss a saddlebag onto the cot near your feet. "Pack your things. Got no time to waste. And don't forget anything here." He was well aware how precious your stuff was.

"What?" You pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air biting against your skin. "Why? What’s going on?"

"Don’t ask questions, just do it," he snapped, though not with anger, more like the sharpness of someone who had too much on their mind and not enough patience to explain it all. His movements were hurried, shoving items into a chest without care, the clinking of metal and the rustle of cloth breaking the fragile silence of the camp.

"We ain’t got time for your temper right now. Pack what you need and be quick about it. I need to tear down the tent too. Hurry!."

Your mouth opened to retort, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hand hovered near the gun at his hip made you think better of it. He wasn’t in the mood for arguments. With a huff, you threw the blanket off and started gathering your belongings, half of which you hadn't unpacked anyway.

"Where...are we even going?..."

"Somewhere safer. Don’t matter where right now, just that we ain’t here when the sun’s up. Wear something warm too."

"Wh-where's Suki-?"

"She'll be-" He left mid-sentence as Dutch called him over.

Typical.

God, how far could this new place be? What if you were this close to being found by your parents, and now you were moving further away again?

First things first, you need to find your pet. And with that, you dashed out of the tent, eyes scanning the camp until you spotted her, comfortably perched on Hosea’s lap as he cooed at her.

"Oh… here, (Y/N). Hope you didn’t mind-"

“It’s fine.” You were already turning to leave when Hosea stood up from the crate. “Where are we going?” you asked, catching him just before he walked away.

“Just another, safer place. Up the hill.”

“Why, though?”

He shrugged, his gaze distant. "Dutch wanted a change of scenery."

Oh really?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another move. It felt like an escape, an escape from something you weren’t allowed to know.

"Are you serious?"

“You know him,” Hosea added, his voice tinged with an understanding sympathy before he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling more annoyed than ever.

Geez… Dutch’s mood, huh? Pfft. And they say men aren’t emotional.

"(Y/N)!".

What the fuck now?

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, "God, help us, Suki. You alright girl, hm?" The last thing you wanted was to deal with him again. You didn’t rush your steps as you turned back toward the tent, taking your sweet time, not bothering to acknowledge his call just yet.

The thought of sharing a horse with Arthur made your stomach twist. The last thing you needed was him too close, breathing down your neck, holding you like his personal doll, a constant reminder of the mess you were stuck in. But you had no choice.

Grumbling to yourself, you finally made your way back to the tent, knowing full well what he’d want next. Anything to keep you under his watchful eye.

Great. Just great.

❀˖°

Taking you back home or at least letting you meet your parents was something you’d stopped asking about after the second day. But today, after settling into the new camp, Silverpine Crossing, situated on rather a height, not too far from the previous camp though. As if the weather wasn't cold enough and waking to the stillness of yet another isolated morning, you felt the misery again. He was being sent on a supply run, and you wanted out. Not just to interact, fuck that--but rather just to see a fresh face, smell something different, anything that wasn’t this suffocating place or these people.

The idea was barely out of your mouth when he shoved you back into the tent.

"Wha-"

“You can’t understand a word, huh?"

"B-but it's not like I am going alone-"

" I said fuckin’ no. So sit your ass down!”

“F-or like what? Forever?!”

His hand shot out, grabbing your bicep with bruising force, his grip making your breath hitch. "Until you learn to be fuckin' grateful and nice. Now quit whinin'. And when I come back… see that pile over there?"

Your gaze darted to the heap of clothes by the cot, his clothes.

“They better be fuckin’ washed. Or you’ll make me do something you’ll regret yourself. Ya hear me?”

"Excuse--me?--- laundry?! I don't know shi-"

"THEN FUCKING LEARN!" Each word was punctuated by the bruising squeeze of your arm and making your fear heightened. With a warning shove and a glare that seared through you, he turned and stalked off without another word.

You could hear him calling for Susan...no, please, no.

Learn , my foot. Asshole.

❀˖°

You huffed as you scrubbed one of the shirts against the bucket. The water was icy against your hands, but the repetitive motion of washing was at least keeping you occupied, even if it felt degrading.

"Never thought I’d see the day," came a sly voice behind you.

You glanced up to find Karen standing nearby, hands on her hips, her signature smirk plastered across her face. She looked amused, tilting her head as she studied you.

"Look at you, being all in...the picket fence character," she teased, crouching down beside you. "Arthur got you washing his drawers now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes, irritated by her tone, but you didn’t stop scrubbing. "How about you shut it and walk away."

Karen chuckled, leaning back on her hands. "Don’t take it so personally. Men like him? They expect it. Don’t mean you gotta roll over, though."

You frowned, her words stinging even though they weren’t entirely wrong. "First of all , nobody here is rolling over and secondly what do you want?"

"Easy, now. Take no wound to the pride. Just thought I’d keep you company. Ain’t like anyone else’ll do it," she replied with a shrug. "Besides, I figured you could use a little girl talk."

You scoffed softly, tossing the shirt into the rinsing bucket. "Girl talk? Right. And what would that be about?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she said, pretending to ponder, "maybe 'bout you ending up here in the first place.."

"Isn't it clear how I ended up in rags from riches huh?"

"No... I mean... why? Because none of us-well, I speak for the girls here--never thought he’d actually go this far. Never thought Mr. Morgan'd do it," she said cautiously, her hands busily sorting through the clothes.

You let out a hollow laugh. "Well, he isn’t a saint, and he’s made that crystal clear. No less than the devil. No, he is the devil."

A painful silence hung between you, the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly, until finally, she broke it again, her voice softer this time.

"But... he wasn’t like this before And by that, I mean... he could have done this before too. If he’d wanted to."

Her jumbled, hesitant words made your neck snap toward her, your curiosity getting the better of your anger. "Hm?"

"There was this lady. Rich, too. City girl. Like you, almost. They had a thing, a good one. They were even engaged. Mutual love, that’s what I mean. But then..." She hesitated, glancing up briefly before looking back down at the fabric in her hands. "Things didn’t work out. Her father, her name’s Mary Linton, by the way--yeah, so, her father married her off to some bloke. Happened...like three years ago."

Your mind reeled, and every word hit you like a blow.

What

The....

"Y-you-you're telling me that-" You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke you. "There was a woman he could’ve done this with, but he didn’t, and instead-"

"I-I mean-yes-but she got married and he probably found later...this is just a hunch though. But-"

"He took what? His anger, or I don’t fucking know--revenge out on me?!" You were on your feet now, your whole body ablaze with rage and confusion. "H-how-why?! God, why?!"

Before she could say another word, a voice cut through the rising tension, smooth and calm yet dripping with authority.

"Mrs. Morgan, a word."

You froze, your head snapping toward Dutch’s tent, where he sat, as composed as ever, watching the scene unfold like he was enjoying just another sunny afternoon.

Oh, this fucker.

Your body stormed towards Dutch's tent while he sat there as calm as ever, thumbing through a book like he hadn’t just summoned you out of thin air.

"Come in, come in, missy," he said smoothly, gesturing to the space before him. "I wanted to-" But you couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you happy? Hm? All of you? How could… you do this to me?" Your voice cracked as sobs wracked your chest, but you didn’t care. The words poured out like complaints of a child. And at this moment you were a child again. Lost and vulnerable once again. "I can’t believe there was a time…" You gasped for breath. "A tim-e when I held your hand and… came here, blindly following you. And for years… I-I was grateful to you… and this is what I get f-for that?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you. For a fleeting moment, there was something in his expression a hint of reflection, perhaps regret?

Oh you were mistaken if you took that for guilt.

"Sometimes," he finally said, "good things happen… for the worse too, girl. A curse in disguise." He tilted his head slightly, his tone hardening. "Believe it or not… accept it or not, I wasn’t the one who webbed this. It was in your fate. Because if you’re going to play the blame game," he continued, his voice cutting deeper, "then there are plenty of others. Your own parents, for leaving you alone in the care of greedy relatives. Your relatives, for treating you like garbage. And then yourself, for giving a thirsty dog water and not expecting it to follow you home."

"So being nice is a crime? Being a friend is-"

"Man and woman, friends?" He barked a chuckle sharply. "You young generation sure have your own beliefs. But that is a hoax, girl. A trap. And you fell for it." He leaned forward, jabbing a finger in your direction, his eyes hard.

"What about her then?! That Mary girl! They weren't friends, they were engaged! He should’ve done this with HER! Why me?! Why did you all ruin my life?! Why didn't you stop him!?" The words tore from your throat like a wounded animal. Your fists lashed out, colliding with his chest and face over and over, your anger and desperation boiling over. He stood firm, his jaw tightening as he absorbed every blow.

"Dutch! Hey- what is she doing?!-" Molly sauntered hurriedly to the entrance.

"Miss O' Shea, give us a moment."

Without a word, he reached over and shut the tent flaps, sealing you both inside and ignoring your latest panic-fueled outburst.

"Listen here," he growled, pushing you away. "I don’t need more drama in this camp from you. I understand this may not be ideal for you, but life ain’t always ideal, missy, is it? So stop this at once! I won’t have this nonsense. Him, being the hard worker he is, loyal to the bone, and you," his eyes narrowed, "his spouse, acting like a damn lunatic. He made his own decision and you need to accept it!."

You froze for a second, seething, your body trembling with fury. Then you straightened, glaring at him with all the venom you could muster. "You people...made me a lunatic!! And I'll act however the hell I want, Watch me. And I’ll tell you this-I won’t ever forgive any of you for this. EVER! Ya'll think you are on top of the world? You are...going to one day fall deep in the same pit you all are digging. And it's Ms. (L/N) for next time."

❀˖°

Arthur held up the tattered remains of his shirts under the firelight, his fingers brushing over the jagged holes that mocked him. His scowl deepened as he turned them in his hands. Karen stood a few paces away, putting on her best performance.

"I swear I saw her hang them up, and these shirts were pristine, Mr. Morgan. I am tellin' you, it’s gotta be one of the boys pulling a prank. Y'know how John gets when he's-"

Well, none of it was true of course. She was the one who washed them and hung them which you later slashed. Karen regretted telling you everything altogether.

Arthur’s glare cut her off. "Do I look stupid to you, Ms. Jones?" and without another word, he stormed toward his tent, the worn fabric of the shirts clenched in his fist.

Can’t have one damn evening in peace.

His jaw tightened as he moved, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted things to be normal, to make them better for you, but you made it so damn hard. So difficult to keep himself in check.

He yanked the flap of the tent aside and stepped in. "What is this, huh?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness as he displayed the ruined shirts in front of you one by one. You flinched as they hit the floor in a crumpled heap. His anger was evident in every movement, in the way his chest heaved and his eyes burned into you.

"I asked you somethin'-" His hand shot out, grabbing your chin to force your gaze upward. "Fuck--look at me!"

Your eyes locked on his. For a fleeting moment, you saw it, his anger faltered, his grip loosening as his eyes softened, regret flickering in their depths like an ember struggling against the cold.

"Why, Arthur?" Your voice wavered, but you steadied it with a bitter edge. "That’s what you wanna know? Hm? Well, I do too." You patted the cot beside you, your tone turning mockingly bright. "Have a seat, here. Let’s figure it out together."

He didn’t move, his jaw tightening again as he studied your faux-bubbly smile and his frown deepened as he watched you rise from the cot, the firelight catching the tension in your movements.

"What? Don’t wanna sit with your wife? Oh... hm. I understand. Must be hard, huh? Coming back here, to this-" You gestured vaguely around the tent and his shirts, your tone teetering between anger and despair. "And maybe--just maybe--you dream of seeing someone else. But what did you get? Or rather, what did you take? A replacement for your broken heart?"

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

"And this?" Your voice was sharper now as you raised your hand, the ring catching the dim light. His earlier warnings still echoed in your mind, but you ignored it. Recklessness burned through you as you slid the ring off your finger, holding it up like it was a mockery of everything between you.

"Is it hers too? Damn...you never told me about your tragedy filled love-story before. Why not?" The anger you felt was just. You wished she was in front of you so could beat her to a pulp and ask her 'Why didn't her ass marry him!?' because now you are the one paying the price for these discounts Romeo and Juliet.

Arthur’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, his presence looming, his voice low and cold. "Don’t."

But you didn’t stop. You held the ring out, your own anger a match to his. "What, Arthur? Don’t what? Don’t ask if this belonged to the woman you couldn’t have? The one you let go? Who I guess didn't even agree to running away with you?" Your chuckle was biting, venomous and you wanted to hurt him as much as you could. "Or more like you were too late to snatch? Guess, someone else beat you to it."

"You don’t know what you’re sayin! It's yours! Put it back right now, I swear to God-"

"Why did you destroy my life!? ANSWER ME! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS WITH HER!" Your hands collided with his chest with full force but he didn't budge.

"BECAUSE I JUST DID! I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Fucking accept it! How fucking--dense can you be! You are not the first woman it's ever happened to so stop acting like this!"

"But...does it make it right? I won't be the last too...I jus' know there must be some girl right now...out there...relaxing, hell, just existing, and next thing you know....a man, like you comes and...plucks her away-"

"Did you forget what I confessed to you?! That meant nothing to you?!"

"And I rejected YOU! You still have time. Go on, GO! Kill her husband and bring her here and let ME GO!"

"You--you think this is a joke?"

You wiped your tears putting on a firm mask again. "You made my life a joke, Arthur..... made me...a joke."

He, however, wasn't in the mood to hear all this again.

"Put. It. On. Now." He stepped closer as his fists clenched. He didn't even know that he possessed this much restraint until now. He grabbed your hands but you struggled.

"Put Omar's on too, make it even then at least-"

Before you could fully register the shift in his expression, he twisted your arm, forcing you off balance and sending you crashing to the ground with a thud. You barely had time to breathe before he was towering over you, his rage evident in the wild flickers of his eyes.

"Repeat that."

"I loved my life too! You h-ad no right! No right!--I love him too! He didn't deserve all that too! NOBODY DID!"

Love him too?

A pained scream left your lips as he slammed his boot on your bare hand pressing on it with brutal force.

And again.

"Done acting like a wench?!" With that, he grabbed the numb hand and forced on the ring again. " This ring ain’t comin’ off your finger, not while I’m alive."

You struggled to catch your breath, the pain too much to even register and tears clouding your vision. But before you could even react, Arthur’s hand was on your hair, dragging you up with such force that your head spun. His movements were quick, and cold, and there was no mercy in them. You gasped, trying to free yourself.

"Arthur-" you cried, but your voice was swallowed by his fury.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, his voice vibrating with anger as he dragged you across the dirt. You tried to dig your heels in, desperate to break free, but it was no use. His strength was overwhelming.

With one final yank, he threw you into the back of the wagon, your body hitting the wooden floor with a painful thud. Before you could sit up or gather yourself, he slammed the door shut, trapping you inside in the pitch-dark, cold space.

"Fuckin' stay there," he growled from the outside, his voice harsh and final. "I won’t have you disrespecting me, not like this. You’ll stay in there until you get your damn head on straight. This is the only language you seem to understand."

"Mr. Morgan--stop-please-let (Y/N) out!" Grimshaw's voice cut through from beside him.

Arthur's head snapped toward Grimshaw, his expression hard, his eyes like ice. "She will stay here until I say so. And if anyone dares to come near her or try to help, they’ll answer to me. And tell the girls to fuckin' stay away from her. They don’t talk any nonsense to her. Got it?"

With a final, warning smack against the wooden door, Arthur turned on his heel and walked off, his boots thudding against the ground as he headed back toward his tent.

Susan turned toward Hosea who met her gaze, his worry evident as he nodded, then slowly made his way to Arthur's tent. Inside, Arthur was calmly sitting on the cot, casually removing his boots as though nothing had happened.

"Arthur, enough," Hosea's voice broke the stillness. "I won’t sit here and watch you treat a woman like this, the woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?"

"SHE DAMN SHOULD! I really am trying. But it ain’t workin', and I’ve got no choice now. So don’t meddle."

"You’re only pushing her further away, Arthur."

"Gentleness won’t always solve the problem."

"But it sure as hell won’t make it worse. You’re handling this all wrong."

Arthur stood up, a hint of defensiveness in his posture. "She’s the problem, Hosea. She doesn’t fuckin' understand-"

"No," Hosea interrupted, his tone heavy with conviction. "She ain’t a problem. She’s someone’s daughter, and now, unfortunately, your wife. Even if you've done what you’ve done, roughness will only shatter what little is left of her. A hammer may break... the glass, but it does nothing for the vase."

❀˖°

The enforcer's thoughts still sharp with anger, but the sharpness had dulled just enough for him to notice the start of morning chill in the air. His hands gripped the edge of the cot as his mind lingered on the coldness between him and you, the things he’d said and done in a moment of blind rage.

He didn’t want to be this man. Not again. Not with you.

But he couldn't control it.

His boots scraped against the dirt as he made his way toward the wagon. The camp was still quiet, the morning still young, and as he approached the wagon, he saw her, Suki, curled up down by the wheel, her small body trying to make the best of the cold rough ground. The sight of her, peaceful and innocent, did something to his chest. If she could curse...she would be doing it too for what he has done to you until now.

His hand moved to scratch behind her ears, the motion automatic, a familiar comfort. But as soon as his fingers made contact, Suki stirred, her small body tensing as her golden eyes flicked open. With a flick of her tail, she stood and slinked away, padding off a few feet before halting, glancing back at him with a clear sense of judgment.

Arthur's heart sank as he watched her move, the way she embodied a certain grace, withdrawn, distant, unwilling to let him in after what had passed between you two. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt his own anger twist back to the forefront. The cat had always been your companion, your comfort. And now she was moving away from him, just like you had.

It hit him harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t just a cat to him right now, she was you.

If he's soft...you hate him, when he's mad...you hate him.

You.... hate him.

"The woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?" Damn man is always right.

He slowly and with a deep sigh undid the chain on the lock and then...he saw you curled up inside, your back to him. The vulnerable position made his heart ache once again.

“(Y/N),” he murmured, almost a plea in the softness of his voice. He couldn’t force you to face him, couldn’t drag you into another fight. He knew you needed space.

You didn’t respond, didn’t even stir at the sound of his soft murmur.

With a sigh, Arthur stepped back out of the wagon, leaving the door open. He made his way over back to the tent with his thoughts swirling in a confusing mess. He didn’t know what else to do.

He grabbed the thick, warm blanket and returned to the wagon, crouching to get halfway inside. He carefully draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin as he settled it around you. He couldn't see your eyes as it was shadowed with your arms and hair. He wanted to say something, anything that might make you feel seen, understood. But the words got stuck in his throat, due to guilt.

"I won’t drag you back in," he whispered softly, not wanting to force anything on you. "But... it’s cold out here...."

He took a step back and let the blanket rest gently on you, pulling the door flaps of the wagon back slightly to let in the morning light and some fresh air. All he could do was wait, try to be patient...

Arthur didn’t leave, though. He wasn’t going to walk away. He pulled a nearby chair over, sitting down just outside the door of the wagon lighting up a smoke.

Patient.

Patient...

It was hours later when he watched from a distance as Susan approached the wagon. Moments later, Arthur saw you emerge, wrapped tightly in the same blanket he’d left draped over you. You looked... weak, exhausted, and withdrawn, leaning heavily on Susan as she guided you down. His jaw tightened when he saw how carefully Susan covered you, pulling the edges of the blanket tighter as if shielding you from everything, including him.

His heart twisted as he watched her take you to his tent, her voice low and comforting, her hand steady on your shoulder. He stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the two of you until you disappeared inside. His chest ached with a mix of guilt, knowing that it wasn’t his arms guiding you, wasn’t his words offering comfort. Instead, he was the one that hurt you. He wanted to run inside and apologize...but where would he even start. His apology would be nothing but a joke...a painful reminder...to you.

"Arthur."

"Dutch…"

The older man leaned in, his voice calm but firm. "What you need is a bit of distance. Cool your head, boy. I’ve got a few jobs to need doin’, away from camp. Might take you a few days."

Arthur hesitated, a protest forming on his lips. "Yeah, but-"

"Her hand might be broken..." Susan’s voice cut through the moment, matter-of-fact, her sharp eyes fixed on Dutch as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Shit.

Guilt once again rose like a wave, crashing hard against his already frayed nerves. He took a step forward, instinct driving him, but Dutch’s hand shot out, firm on his shoulder.

"No. You go. Charles will take her and Grimshaw. If it’s not too serious, Hosea can just treat it here."

Arthur tensed, his jaw tightening at the mention of Charles. The thought of you going anywhere with him, trusting anyone else. “I....don’t like that idea,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Dutch arched a brow, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I know you don’t. But it ain’t your call now, is it? Don't worry though, we are here, aren't we? Ms. Grimshaw, tell Hosea to check her."

Arthur stood there, torn between guilt, frustration, and something he couldn’t quite name. Dutch gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"Come, I will give you the list of tasks."

After receiving that, he strode to the camp's edge finding Bill lounging idly near the horses. "Bill," he barked, his tone short. "Keep watch over the camp while I’m gone. I’ll be back in four to five days, maybe less. And uh...her too. No one bothers her, got it?"

"...Got it."

Arthur nodded once, curtly, before turning to his horse. With a final glance at the place he should’ve been, where he should’ve stayed, Arthur swung onto his horse.

He didn’t look back as he rode out of camp. He couldn’t.

─AN: To be added or removed, you can always comment. Interactions are always appreciated.

★ tag list: : @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 08

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 007. 008. 009.

EIGHT, hidden heat.

YOU HADN'T SEEN RAFE IN A DAY.

you'd walked home alone after the kiss, your head spinning with questions and confusion. everything felt tangled, like a thread you couldn't quite unravel.

rafe had treated you like shit for two years, relentless teasing, cutting remarks, and a coldness you couldn't make sense of. you couldn't even pinpoint when exactly it had started, just that it had blindsided you, leaving you annoyed and secretly hurt. you used to lie awake, wondering what you'd done to deserve it. now, after what he'd said, it all made sense.

but that didn't make it okay.

he'd been horrible to you because he liked you? because he couldn't handle his feelings? the whole thing made your blood boil. how selfish could he be?

you sat on the back porch, earbuds in, music playing low as you painted your toenails. the summer heat pressed down on you, thick and heavy, matching the weight of your thoughts. you focused on the brush in your hand, trying to keep cool, trying not to let your anger take over completely.

"hey," carter's voice cut through your music as he stepped outside.

you pulled out one earbud and glanced up. "yeah?"

"topper, kelce, and ruthie are coming over in a bit. you should get cora to come too," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "we're just gonna hang out, drink a little. it's gonna be hot as hell today."

you nodded, forcing a small smile. "sure, sounds good." you pulled out your phone and sent cora a quick text.

carter was already halfway back inside when you called after him, "is rafe still around?"

he glanced over his shoulder with a shrug. "yeah, somewhere." then he disappeared into the house.

you sighed, a heavy weight settling in your chest. of course he was still here. you'd been dreading the moment you'd have to face each other again, and now it seemed inevitable.

you stared down at your half-painted toes, exhaling slowly. "great," you muttered to yourself, the word dripping with sarcasm. the impossible confrontation was just around the corner, whether you were ready for it or not.

you exhaled sharply, setting the tiny brush back into the bottle of polish with a deliberate slowness, your mind churning. confronting rafe felt like trying to unravel a storm- messy, unpredictable, and exhausting. you weren't ready to see him yet, but it seemed the universe had other plans. you glanced out at the yard, the heat shimmering over the lawn, wishing it would all melt away, including your feelings.

cora replied to your text almost immediately, promising to head over soon. you forced a smile at your phone and stood up, inspecting your freshly painted toes. you couldn't sit here and stew in your thoughts forever.

the sound of carter laughing inside carried through the open door, and you caught snippets of his voice mingled with another- deeper, unmistakable. rafe. your stomach twisted.

you grabbed the half-empty polish bottle and made your way inside, hoping to slip past unnoticed. the kitchen was alive with the faint clinking of glasses and carter rummaging through the fridge. rafe leaned against the counter, his broad frame backlit by the sunlight streaming through the window. he wasn't wearing a shirt - again - just gym shorts slung low on his hips. you faltered for a moment, your heart betraying you with its sudden, uneven rhythm.

he noticed you immediately. his gaze flickering to you as you crossed the room, and you tried not to notice how his expression softened just slightly. "hey," he said, his voice low and hesitant.

you didn't meet his eyes. "hi," you murmured, opening a cupboard and pretending to look for something.

carter, oblivious, turned around holding a case of beers. "tossing these in the cooler. topper should be here in twenty." he breezed past them, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

the silence left in his wake was deafening. you could feel rafe watching you, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

"are we just... not gonna talk about it?" his voice broke through the quiet.

you turned around slowly, your arms crossed. "what's there to talk about, rafe?"

he straightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "don't do that. don't act like nothing happened."

"fine," you said, leaning back against the counter, your voice sharper than you intended. "what do you want me to say? that i'm not angry? that i don't feel completely blindsided by the fact you've spent years treating me like shit because you have a thing for me? because, honestly, rafe, i don't even know where to start with that."

he winced but didn't back down. "i know i fucked up, okay? i know i don't deserve... any of this." he gestured vaguely toward you, his voice tight. "but i told you because i couldn't keep pretending i didn't feel the way i do."

your chest tightened. you wanted to yell at him, to tell him how unfair it was, but the words stuck in your throat. "you could've handled it differently," you said quietly, your anger ebbing into something softer, more painful. "you didn't have to be so cruel."

rafe stepped closer, his hand brushing the edge of the counter. "i know." he paused, his voice faltering.

you glanced at him then, really looked at him. his blue eyes were clouded with guilt, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. he looked so unsure, so unlike the cocky, self-assured rafe you were used to. it threw you off balance.

before you could respond, the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway broke the moment. voices carried through the open window; topper, kelce, and ruthie, loud and boisterous as ever.

you pushed off the counter and walked toward the back door, needing air, needing space. "we're not done with this," you said over your shoulder, your voice steadier than you felt.

rafe didn't follow you. he just stood there, watching you go, the weight of everything unsaid lingering between them.

you darted upstairs, your heart pounding with a strange mix of nerves and defiance. you rummaged through your drawers, pulling out a bikini. if you were going to spend the day dealing with ruthie's little comments and rafe's confusing intensity, you'd do it on your terms. you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out quickly before slicking on a layer of sunscreen and then lip balm.

your phone buzzed. cora was two minutes away. thank god. you let out a small sigh of relief, grabbed your sunglasses, and headed downstairs to meet the chaos.

the kitchen was a flurry of voices and movement when you walked in. topper and kelce greeted you enthusiastically, topper pulling you into a quick hug while kelce gave you a fist bump. ruthie hovered nearby, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach your eyes before trailing after topper like a shadow. you bit back an eye roll.

the group made their way down to the pool, arms full of coolers, towels, and cups. the sun blazed overhead, casting sharp, golden light over everything. you were halfway to setting up your spot when rafe came strolling down behind carter, carrying two cases of beer on each arm like it was nothing. his swim trunks hung low on his hips—too low—and he wore a grin that was equal parts cocky and carefree. your breath hitched for half a second, though you quickly busied yourself with unpacking your things.

cora arrived moments later, saving you from spiralling into your own head. "finally," you said, pulling your best friend into a hug.

"always here," cora replied with a grin, holding up a tote bag filled with sunscreen, snacks, and what looked like an entire bottle of tequila.

you claimed a couple of loungers near the pool's edge, chatting as you set your stuff down. you slipped off your cover-up, feeling the sun warm your skin instantly. you slid your legs into the water, the coolness a welcome contrast to the heat, and leaned back on your hands as you let yourself relax, at least a little.

your gaze flicked toward rafe before you could stop it. he was across the pool, standing near the cooler, and his eyes were already on you. but this time, he didn't look away. he didn't even try to hide it. his gaze was piercing, unwavering, and undeniably bold, the hint of a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. your stomach did a strange flip, but you quickly forced your focus back to cora, who was already cracking jokes about ruthie's extravagant poolside outfit.

soon, everyone settled into the rhythm of the afternoon. the speaker pumped out upbeat music, beers were cracked open, and laughter echoed around the pool. topper and kelce started an overly competitive game of pool volleyball, and ruthie made a show of lounging on a float, her perfectly manicured hand trailing lazily through the water.

you stayed on the edge with cora, chatting and occasionally letting your feet splash in the pool. but every now and then, you could feel it, rafe's gaze on you like a magnet. it wasn't just the usual glance or fleeting look; it was charged, intentional, like he was daring you to acknowledge it.

you refused to give him the satisfaction, at least not yet. instead, you turned to cora, a grin playing on your lips. "so, tequila shots by the pool later?"

"is that even a question?" cora shot back, raising her sunglasses with a smirk.

you laughed, the sound light and unbothered, even as you felt the weight of rafe's attention lingering like the heat in the air.

the afternoon unfolded lazily, the sun beating down as the group alternated between the pool and the loungers. topper and kelce's volleyball game turned into a chaotic mess of rules no one followed, ruthie kept taking dramatic selfies with the pool in the background, and cora made sure your drink was never empty.

you did your best to relax, to let yourself melt into the carefree energy around you. but it was hard, especially when rafe kept finding ways to pull your attention. a joke tossed too loudly, his laughter cutting through the music, the way he casually leaned against the pool's edge when he wasn't in the water, his sharp gaze finding you through the crowd. it was infuriating.

cora noticed too, leaning close to murmur, "why does rafe keep staring at you?"

you rolled her eyes, pretending not to care. "he's just... being rafe."

cora snorted. "rafe doesn't just look at people like that. he's trying to get your attention."

"well, it's working," you muttered, taking a long sip of your drink.

not long after, rafe made his move. the volleyball game had dissolved completely, and most of the group was lounging in or around the pool. you were sitting on the edge, your feet still dangling in the water, when he swam up to you.

"you're awfully quiet," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you glanced down at him, your expression neutral. "maybe i just don't have anything to say."

he rested his arms on the edge of the pool, looking up at you with that maddening, unreadable expression. "you always have something to say."

your lips pressed into a thin line. "not to you."

his smirk faltered, but only for a second. "still mad, huh?"

"mm, you think?" you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended.

rafe sighed, leaning his forehead against his arm for a moment before looking back up at you. "whatever. i'm trying to be better."

"trying?" you scoffed, pulling your legs out of the water and standing. "trying would've been not treating me like shit for two years. trying would've been telling me the truth before-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head. "forget it."

then cora called out from the pool, "tequila shot time!"

you tore your gaze away from rafe, your pulse racing. "coming!" you called back.

rafe's eyes stayed on you as you walked away.

you sauntered over to where cora stood, your best friend holding out a shot glass with a mischievous grin. your own smile widened as your fingers brushed in the exchange. "cheers," cora said, her voice light and teasing, and you nodded before you both tipped their heads back in unison. the burn of the liquor was sharp and immediate, but you barely flinched, laughing as you set the empty glasses on the table.

the evening had taken on a golden glow, the fairy lights strung above the pool casting soft halos over everything. the music was louder now, bass thumping in time with the pulse in your temples. laughter echoed through the backyard, a mix of drunken banter and the occasional off-key singing. you had lost count of how many drinks you'd had, the edges of your world blurring pleasantly as you sank into one of the lounge chairs, tilting your head back to let the breeze cool your flushed skin.

cora was off giggling with kelce and carter, their voices floating across the yard, while topper and ruthie bickered yet again, their argument punctuated by topper's exaggerated sighs and ruthie's pointed glares. you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at their endless drama.

after a moment, you stood, the ground beneath your feet feeling just a little unsteady. the thought of water tugged at you like a lifeline, and you nodded to yourself, mumbling something incoherent as you made your way back toward the house. the warmth of the night followed you inside, the air cooler in the kitchen but still heavy with the scent of sunscreen and spilled beer.

you poured yourself a glass of water, the cold liquid a welcome relief against your palm. lifting it to your lips, you turned, only to feel an unmistakable presence close behind you.

rafe.

you froze for half a second before meeting his eyes, his grin lazy and self-assured. he looked impossibly relaxed, leaning against the counter like he hadn't a care in the world. but there was something about the way he was watching you, intense, piercing, that made your pulse quicken.

"thirsty?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

"clearly," you replied, taking a sip to steady yourself. your cheeks warmed under his gaze, though you refused to let it show.

his hands found your arms, fingertips grazing lightly over your skin as he stepped closer. his touch sent a shiver racing down your spine despite the heat.

"you're trouble," you said softly, unable to stop the small giggle that escaped your lips. you hated how easily he got to you, how effortlessly he unraveled the walls you tried so hard to keep up.

"maybe," he said, his breath warm and tinged with the strong scent of alcohol. 

you tried to summon some kind of retort, something to wipe that smug grin off his face, but your thoughts scattered the moment his eyes dropped to your lips. suddenly, the glass in your hand felt too heavy, the space between them too small.

and yet, you didn't move away.

you leaned back against the counter, clutching the cool glass of water in your hand as rafe stepped closer, his presence almost magnetic. his grin was lopsided, a mix of mischief and something softer, more vulnerable, that made your stomach flip.

"you're avoiding me," he said, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes searched yours like he was looking for something you weren't sure you could give.

"maybe i am," you said lightly, your lips curling into a small smirk. the alcohol in your system giving you the courage to challenge him, even as your heart thudded against your ribs.

his hands slid up your arms, slow and deliberate, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. "you're not very good at it," he murmured.

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "you're annoying."

he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his voice dropping even lower. "yeah, but you like it."

your breath hitched, and you took a step back, needing the space to think clearly, though the counter at her back kept you trapped. "you're drunk," you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

he tilted his head, studying you. "so are you."

you bit your lip, trying to find the right words, but they felt tangled in your chest. "what do you want, rafe?"

his grin faltered, replaced by something deeper, something raw. "you," he said simply, the word heavy with meaning. 

the room felt impossibly small, the air thick between them. your pulse thundered in your ears, and you couldn't look away from him, couldn't ignore the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"you make it sound so simple," you whispered.

he laughed softly, the sound almost bitter.

your fingers tightened around the glass, your resolve wavering. you wanted to let yourself believe him, to believe that he could be better, that you could be something. but the weight of the past still lingered, tugging at the edges of your mind.

"rafe..." your voice cracked, and you hated how uncertain you sounded.

he stepped even closer, his hands settling on the counter on either side of you, boxing you in without touching you. "tell me to back off, and i will. i swear. but if you want me to stop, you have to mean it."

you stared at him, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. every part of you screamed at you to push him away, to protect yourself from the storm that was rafe cameron. but you couldn't. you didn't want to.

instead, you set the glass down on the counter, your movements deliberate. your gaze locked with his, and you leaned up just enough to press your lips to his, slow and certain.

the kiss was nothing like the first. it wasn't hurried or impulsive. it was deliberate, a choice. your hands slid up his chest, and he groaned softly against your mouth, his hands finding your waist like they belonged there.

for a moment, the world melted away. there was no past, no pain, no anger, just the two of you, tangled together in the quiet chaos of your emotions.

you kept waiting for him to pull away, or you to, but you didn't. the kisses were getting more intense, more hungry. you couldn't help how your arms clung around his neck, how his hands fit so perfectly at the small of your back. 

soon you were turning around, walking side ways up the stairs as you grasped onto each other, as if you'd let go, you'd never touch again. you suddenly had nothing else in your head, only rafe. rafe. rafe. 

you pulled away as you both fell back onto something, your bed, you were in your room. you were kissing rafe cameron, in your bedroom, on your bed. you kicked the door closed and pressed your lips against his again. 

his weight steady but not overwhelming. the room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the warm glow of the fairy lights strung up around your window and the salt lamp on your bedside. your heart was racing, your breath catching in your throat as his lips moved against your, deliberate yet full of hunger. his hand slid up your side, fingers brushing the bottom of your bikini top as if asking for silent permission.

your hands tangled in his hair as he pressed closer, your body responding instinctively to his. it was a strange thing, this mix of familiarity and newness; years of knowing each other, clashing and caring, culminating in this uncharted territory.

when his hands slipped under your bikini top, you arched into him. his skin was warm, the faint scent of salt and summer clinging to him. he let out a soft groan as your hands ran down his chest, your touch light but full of purpose.

"you drive me insane, you know that?" he murmured against your neck, his lips grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

your bikini top flew to the floor, and he paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over you like you were something sacred. it made your heart ache in the best way, the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

things escalated naturally, their movements full of a delicate, shared urgency. your bottoms joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

"don't worry, i'm on birth control" you interrupted gently, your voice steady. your lips brushed his, and your words came out in a tense whisper. 

something about those words made him lose any remaining control. his kisses deepened, his hands roamed with a newfound confidence, and together, you fell into the moment, letting everything else fade away.

"you're fuckin' killing me right now." he groaned, taking one of your tits in his hand again. you arched into him, reaching to palm him through his pants. resting his head in the curve of your neck, rafe licked over your nipple, his tongue running over the sensitive spot of your flesh. you moaned, the sound making his cock stir. 

you continued stroking him through his pants, his lips finding yours before he slipped his freehand down her body. you whimpered before you felt his middle and ring fingers dip between your folds. "fuckk, you're soaked.." he grazed her clit, your body jolting in pure pleasure.

rafe slid his fingers down to your entrance, before gliding his them back up to your sensitive bundle of nerves, admiring the way your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, your lips wet with his spit.

despite his fingers working on you mercilessly, you felt so bare, wanting nothing more than to feel the stretch of his cock. "rafe. i want you inside of me." you looked deeply at him, "please fuck me." grunting at your words, rafe gave you a nod.

rafe moved them backward, sat up against your headboard before pulling you back down on his lap. you kissed him, grinding on his cock. rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you up as you reached down and lined him up with your entrance. making sure you were looking at his face, rafe lowered you slowly, both of you moaning as you sunk down on his length.

you felt so warm and tight wrapped around him, both of you shuddering once he filled you completely. "fuck, rafe you're so big" you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. 

"look at me," he suddenly said, you breathed deeply but locked your gaze on his. "you're mine now, okay? you're mine." his possessive tone made you shudder, you nearly doubled over from the pleasure. 

"look, i need you to know that i'm sorry about the way i treated you before. because the way i'm gonna fuck you? you just might forget." she was about to question what he meant when he wrapped his arms around you tightly and started thrusting into you from below, your lips parting as a yell ripped itself from your throat. 

"oh my, fuck!" you cried, rafe smirked to himself. "the dick that good?" you buried your face in his chest, biting down on your bottom lip as his pelvis smacked the bottoms of your ass.

rafe was brutal, his tip kissing your cervix every so often as he moved his hips. "ugh fuck, your dick is so good" you cried, holding onto him tightly. he groaned and gazed up at you. he continued like this, leaving open mouth kisses along your shoulder.

he then laid you down, throwing each leg over his shoulder before slamming back into you again. with rafe pounding into you like nothing could stop him, and his fingers now rubbing your clit, it wasn't long before you were a whining mess, both you and rafe kissing as your orgasm hit you, stealing your breath away. rafe came twice, then doubling over.

when it was over, you lay tangled together, heaving. 

rafe chuckled, pulling you closer without a word. 

your heart was still racing, trying to steady your breathing and your thoughts. you couldn't believe what had just happened, and where. the faint thump of music from the pool below felt like a distant echo of reality, pulling you back to the present. your cheeks burned as the realisation hit: carter could never know. ever.

you glanced over at rafe, who was now sitting on the edge of your bed, his tousled hair falling over his forehead, his trademark smirk firmly in place. he was entirely too pleased with himself.

"he'll murder both of us," you whispered, covering her mouth as if that would somehow muffle the guilt clawing at your chest. you quickly grabbed your bikini top and started putting it back on. 

rafe rolled his eyes, leaning back lazily like this was all some big joke. "please. i could take carter in a fight."

you shot him a glare, standing up and hastily adjusting your bikini straps. "this isn't about who can fight who, rafe. this is about me not wanting to live through the fallout of carter finding out his best friend and sister-" you gestured vaguely between them, "-did... whatever this is."

his smirk only widened, his eyes darkening as he looked you up and down. "whatever this is?" he repeated, his voice dripping with mischief. "sounds like you're already trying to forget it."

you groaned, grabbing a scrunchie from your nightstand to tie your hair back. "i don't have time for your ego right now. i need to pee, and you need to act like you were doing something that wasn't me."

rafe chuckled, standing and stretching leisurely as if the weight of their secret hadn't hit him yet. "fine. but for the record, i'm going to miss the view." he threw you one last mischievous grin before heading into the guest room across the hall, muttering something about packing his things.

you rolled your eyes and pulled your bikini bottoms up, muttering curses under your breath as you headed into the bathroom. you turned the lock, stared at your reflection for a long moment, and exhaled. "what the fuck just happened?" you whispered to yourself, splashing cold water on your face.

when you emerged a few minutes later, freshly composed, cora's voice drifted up from the hallway. you froze for a second, quickly throwing on your most nonchalant expression.

cora and carter appeared outside your room, the latter looking mildly suspicious. "hey," cora chirped, stepping inside. "where've you been? we were looking for you."

"oh, just needed water and the bathroom," you lied smoothly, shrugging as you stumbled over a little, really selling the drunk pee lie. you were grateful cora was terrible at detecting lies because carter's eyes lingered on you for just a beat too long.

the sound of the toilet flushing across the hall made all three of them glance over. a moment later, rafe stepped out, his face annoyingly calm, like he hadn't just been breaking every bro code in existence.

"oh hey," cora said, her tone neutral but slightly puzzled.

"what were you doing?" carter asked, narrowing his eyes slightly at rafe.

"packing," rafe said easily, motioning toward the guest room. "gotta head back to tanneyhill soon, remember?"

carter didn't look entirely convinced, but his suspicion seemed to fade when he said, "well, there are s'mores out back. let's go before topper eats all the chocolate."

you forced a grin, and cora clapped her hands excitedly as they all made their way downstairs. rafe's arm brushed yours on the way, and you felt a rush of heat crawl up your neck, which you desperately tried to hide by falling into step with cora.

as you stepped back out into the warm evening, the fairy lights twinkling overhead and laughter ringing out from the poolside, you glanced over at rafe. he caught her eye for the briefest moment, his smirk subdued but still present, a secret written plainly across his face.

you looked away quickly, swallowing hard. you didn't know what you'd gotten yourself into, but one thing was clear. this was only the beginning.

series taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @i2rapunzel @rafestoothbrush @drewizz @6r4cie @akobx @seehowitshines @rafeswhoooreee @vbstrewbieri @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @ariivv01 @k4yr14 @luvrcndy @teleishachrisy @importantbeardcupcake @vanessa-rafesgirl @ltristessedureratoujours @cutkoskysnix1 @kennedywxlsh @funnyalpca @eeveelizabethh @burnburritono @marleymarleymarleymarley @katiebby04 ( lachesism taglist ) in order to stay on this taglist you must interact with the posts !

[scribblue]

@acksolotel618 Got inspired by this post and ended up using it as a writing prompt for a short scene with Zane and Garmadon!!

You can read it on Ao3 here , or after the cut

❆ A Lesson In Humanity ❆

Zane speaks to Garmadon about their shared history of being manipulated emperors.

{ 940 words, no major warnings }

"I was once like you."

The words landed heavily on Garmadon's shoulders, yet with further consideration he refused to believe they carried any real weight. Merely a vapid placation, or worse, outright mocking. He furrowed his brow. "You couldn't possibly understand me, metal man."

Zane stared back evenly. His eye contact was unwavering, unnatural. It felt as though he could see through Garmadon's very chemical makeup, and was intent on dissecting him down to his barest components like a hunk of biological technology. The nindroid stood on the catwalk connecting their underground base of operations to the elevator up to the monastery. The rest of the ninja had left to take a break, following a particularly intense—and unsuccessful— training session between Lloyd and Garmadon. Garmadon had to admit his surprise, if only internally, at the company he now found himself forcibly entertaining; Zane had never made an effort to speak to him one-on-one, and the cold shoulder was reciprocated.

"You are free to believe that, if a sense of individuality brings you comfort,” Zane said. “However, it is an inaccurate assessment."

Garmadon rolled his eyes. "Thank you for reminding me why we never spoke. You may leave now,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him. 

Zane remained. An unsurprising development, and an aggravating one. "Do you not wish to know of our similarities?”

A frown crossed Garmadon’s face, and curiosity clouded his thoughts. He was quick to disperse it with a shake of his head; Zane was clearly trying to get under his skin, force his guard down so that he would ease up on Lloyd. It would never work. Mastering Oni form took an iron fist, not a distracted mind. He turned away and clasped both sets of hands behind his back, pretending to focus on the computers for a long moment.

Not long enough, evidently, as Zane made his continued presence known. “I am going to tell you anyway.”

“Great,” Garmadon muttered.

“When I was trapped in the Never Realm, I was manipulated into becoming the Ice Emperor: a cold and ruthless entity who spared no one in his quest for retaining power. My true self was hidden from me for sixty years, until Lloyd helped me restore it,” Zane said, a waver of emotion in his robotic voice. “It has been some time since it happened, yet I still feel the effects of this event to this day.”

“Hmm.” Garmadon pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard in an attempt to make his distraction look convincing. “I fail to see how that relates to me.”

He heard Zane take a small step forward. “When you became Emperor of Ninjago, that emperorship was predicated on lies and manipulation by Harumi. She encouraged you to reject your humanity, just as my advisor Vex did to me. And I am willing to bet you have also suffered lasting effects.”

Garmadon scoffed. “Please,” he said, turning a tight-lipped scowl towards Zane. “I am an oni, I never had humanity to reject…that is, until Vinny of NGTV news took me under his council. And even so, such humanity would not benefit me here. Lloyd needs to learn to release his oni form, and I can assure you I am in the perfect condition to do so—no ‘lasting effects’ as you say.”

“Perhaps that is true. Or perhaps you only wish it to be.” Zane’s pointed stare finally wavered, drifting to some far-off corner of the room. “I have spent much of my own spare time wrestling with the reality of my situation, versus what I wish to believe… It is difficult to grapple with the truth that I have hurt innocent people while under another’s influence. It sometimes holds me back from being the best version of myself that I can be, for fear of hurting others again.”

That did sound familiar, not that Garmadon was willing to admit it out loud. He was often plagued with memories of his short-lived reign over Ninjago, and the atrocities committed under his hand. He was loath to say he regretted any of them, in fact he wasn’t sure he was even capable of regret– nonetheless, the flashbacks were bothersome, and the more he attempted to embody “goodness”, the more frequent they became. “So…what? You believe I am compromised in some way? I can assure you I’m not.”

“I believe you have begun the process of betterment, without addressing the root of the issue.”

“...And what might that be?”

“Your relationship with Lloyd. You hurt Lloyd during your time as Emperor. Now, your beliefs and goals are changing, but you have not mended the rift that has grown between the two of you, or attempted to grapple with the effects your actions have on both yourself and others… you cannot expect to find success in the present, until you face your past,” Zane said. His even tone and matter-of-fact delivery did nothing to lessen the blow of his words. “You may not believe it, but Lloyd is your humanity. As he was mine, when I needed it most. Do not forget that he needs you too.”

Something twinged in Garmadon’s chest. He had half a mind to blame it on his incomplete resurrection, and perhaps that truly was the case; complicated emotions could simply be a byproduct of his botched vessel. He averted his gaze and said nothing. 

Zane didn’t attempt to break the silence, either. He lingered for just a moment longer, before turning heel and wordlessly leaving the room, where Garmadon remained alone with his thoughts. 

“…I won’t,” he said, knowing there was nobody there to hear him.

[luvvictoria]

Blood-Stained Bonds

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status.on-going

+ official playlist.by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

+ summary. Haibara’s shocking arrest for drug dealing sends ripples through the group, exposing cracks in their friendships and raising suspicions about Suguru’s involvement. [Name] begins to uncover the extent of Suguru’s lies with the help of Utahime and Satoru. As more truths surface, including Suguru’s cheating with Shoko and his possible ties to Sukuna’s shady dealings, [Name] is forced to confront the painful reality of who Suguru has become.

The news of Haibara’s arrest hit their circle like a bombshell. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing the always-laughing, always-lighthearted Yo Haibara in handcuffs — it was the undercurrent of betrayal that came with it. The grainy footage of him being led into a police car played on a loop in [Name]’s mind, the image refusing to let go.

She sat at her kitchen table, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room. Her phone lay in front of her, the screen still glowing from the news article she’d read over and over. The charges against Haibara were stark and unforgiving: drug possession with intent to distribute. Each word felt like a blow.

“Yo,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “How did it come to this?”

Her hands shook as she reached for her coffee mug, the liquid inside now cold. Beneath the initial sadness, there was something darker — a gnawing suspicion that Suguru wasn’t as uninvolved as he’d always claimed to be. Memories bubbled up: the way Suguru had laughed off questions about Haibara’s odd comings and goings, the cryptic comments about "connections" that didn’t make sense at the time.

She hadn’t spoken to Suguru since their breakup, and she didn’t plan to. But his shadow loomed over everything, especially now. His charm, his magnetic presence — it was all a carefully constructed illusion, and Haibara’s arrest was just another crack in the facade.

The next day, the group met at their usual spot in the park, but the energy was anything but usual. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that made your chest ache just by being near it. Satoru stood leaning against a tree, his sunglasses perched low on his nose. His arms were crossed, and his jaw was set in a way that made it clear he was barely keeping his frustration in check.

Utahime sat on the bench, her back stiff and her expression hard. Her usual warmth was gone, replaced with something colder — anger. [Name] took the seat beside her, clutching her phone in her lap, its screen now dark. They were the only three who showed up. Riko had sent a brief message saying she needed space, and Shoko... well, Shoko had disappeared entirely since the fallout.

For a while, no one said anything. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the distant sounds of children playing and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“Do you think Haibara... was actually dealing?” Utahime’s voice broke the quiet, her tone carefully measured.

[Name] flinched at the question. Hearing it said aloud made everything feel more real, more damning.

Satoru uncrossed his arms but didn’t look up. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low. “But if he was, he didn’t do it alone.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. [Name] turned to look at him, her stomach twisting in knots. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru hesitated, his blue eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. For a moment, he looked like he was debating whether or not to say more. Then he sighed and pushed his glasses up onto his head, meeting [Name]’s gaze directly.

“Just... be careful who you trust,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

The cryptic warning made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Utahime wasn’t having it. She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, her eyes boring into Satoru.

“You’re talking about Suguru, aren’t you?” she demanded.

Satoru didn’t answer immediately. He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Utahime snapped. Her tone was sharper now, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You know something, don’t you?”

[Name] felt her throat tighten. “If you know something about Suguru— about Haibara — you need to tell us,” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t the time to stay quiet!”

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, clearly torn. “Look, I don’t have proof,” he said finally. “But Yo didn’t just wake up one day and decide to start dealing. Someone pulled him into it, and I think Suguru knows more than he’s letting on.”

The words hit [Name] like a punch to the gut. She stared at Satoru, her mind racing. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to hold onto the version of Suguru she used to know — the one who had once been her everything. But deep down, a part of her knew that version of him was gone.

Utahime scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course he’s involved,” she muttered. “Why else would he be so calm about all of this? He always acts like nothing touches him.”

[Name] felt tears prick at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I just... I don’t understand. How could he let this happen? How could he let Haibara get caught up in something like this?”

Satoru’s expression softened, but there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Because Suguru only cares about Suguru,” he said quietly. “And the rest of us? We’re just collateral damage.”

The words were like a dagger to the heart, and [Name] couldn’t stop the tears this time. She wiped at her face angrily, hating herself for still feeling anything for Suguru, for still wanting to believe he could change.

“Yo didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “None of us did.”

Satoru stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “No, we didn’t,” he said softly. “But it’s not on you to fix it, [Name]. This isn’t your burden to carry.”

She looked up at him, his face blurred through her tears, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe she couldn’t fix the broken pieces of their group, but she didn’t have to face the fallout alone.

That evening, [Name] sat curled up on Utahime’s couch, a blanket draped over her legs. The warm glow of the floor lamp softened the room, but it couldn’t ease the tension that hung between them. They had been talking for hours, their voices rising and falling like waves, breaking against the silence as they vented about everything — from Shoko’s betrayal to Haibara’s arrest to the suffocating weight of Suguru’s secrets.

Utahime sat across from her, legs tucked beneath her, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. She hadn’t taken a sip since pouring it. Instead, she stared into the cup, her brows knit in deep thought. The frustration in her eyes mirrored the storm in [Name]’s chest.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Utahime said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. She set the cup down on the coffee table with a soft clink and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Shoko... she was acting weird that night at Mei Mei’s party. Remember? She kept looking over her shoulder, like she was waiting for someone. And Suguru? Don’t even get me started. He’s been dodging questions left and right.”

[Name] hugged the blanket tighter around herself, her nails digging into her palms. Her chest felt heavy, a mix of anger and sadness twisting in her gut. “I don’t want to think about him anymore,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But it’s like everything — every piece of this mess — leads back to him.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Utahime reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “[Name],” she said gently, her voice softer now. “I know it’s hard. You’ve been through so much, more than anyone should have to. But maybe it’s time to face it. You deserve the truth, even if it hurts.”

[Name] blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill over again. She looked up at Utahime, her friend’s determined expression breaking through the walls she had been trying so hard to keep up. “I don’t even know if I can handle the truth,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What if it’s worse than I think? What if... what if everything I thought I knew about him was a lie?”

Utahime gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll face it. And you won’t be alone. I’m here, Riko’s here... even Satoru, in his weird, cryptic way, cares about you more than he’ll ever admit. You’ve got people who love you, [Name]. Don’t forget that.”

The tears came in that moment, slow and silent at first, then falling faster as her shoulders shook. “I just don’t understand,” she choked out. “I gave him everything. I tried so hard to hold on, to make it work, even when I knew he was slipping away. And for what? For him to betray me like this with my friend ?”

Utahime slid closer, pulling her into a tight hug. “You loved him,” she said softly. “And that’s not a weakness, no matter how much it hurts now. But love isn’t supposed to break you, [Name]. It’s supposed to make you stronger, make you better. He didn’t deserve you, and deep down, I think you know that.”

They sat like that for a long time, the only sound the quiet hum of the radiator and [Name]’s muffled sobs. When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, and her eyes were swollen, but there was a spark of resolve in them that hadn’t been there before.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice still shaky but laced with determination. “I need the truth. Even if it hurts. I can’t keep living in this... this limbo.”

Utahime smiled, a flicker of pride lighting her features. “Good. Because you deserve so much better than this, [Name]. And whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, [Name] felt a sliver of hope. It was fragile, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to hold onto.

When [Name] returned to her apartment, the emptiness felt heavier than usual. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the dimly lit space. She dropped her bag by the door and let out a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on her shoulders. Her mind was still swirling with everything Utahime had said, the fragments of truth she was too afraid to piece together fully.

As she sank onto the couch, her phone buzzed. The screen lit up, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name.

Satoru: You okay?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertainty knotting in her chest. She thought about lying — saying she was fine, brushing him off like she had done with so many others — but the truth clawed at her throat, demanding to be heard. Finally, she began typing.

[Name]: Not really. Can we talk, please?

She hit send and stared at the screen, waiting. The seconds stretched into an eternity before the familiar three dots appeared, signaling his reply.

Satoru: Of course. You home?

Her throat tightened at the simple question. He always had a way of making her feel seen, even in the smallest gestures. She typed back quickly.

[Name]: Yeah. Can you come over?

There was no hesitation in his response.

Satoru: Be there in 10.

She set her phone down and glanced around the room, suddenly self-conscious of the scattered papers and empty coffee mug on the table. With a shaky breath, she began tidying up, though her movements felt mechanical, her mind elsewhere. Why had she asked him to come over? What did she even want to say?

By the time a knock sounded at the door, her heart was pounding. She wiped her hands on her jeans and crossed the room, pausing for a moment before opening the door.

Satoru stood there, his usual confident demeanor softened by concern. His silver-white hair glinted under the hallway light, and his blue eyes searched hers. He held up some bags of snacks in one hand and a drink in the other.

“Figured you could use these,” he said with a small smile.

She couldn’t help but laugh, a weak, broken sound, but it was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Thanks,” she murmured, stepping aside to let him in.

As he walked past her, the familiar scent of his cologne filled the room — a mix of cedar and something sweet, like vanilla. It was comforting, grounding. He set the snacks on the table and turned to face her, his expression serious.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the couch. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The question opened a floodgate she hadn’t realized was there. She sank onto the couch, her hands trembling as she clutched at the hem of her sweater. “It’s everything,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Haibara’s arrest, Suguru, Shoko... it’s like everything I thought I knew is falling apart.”

Satoru sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

His words broke something in her, naking her soft. Tears welled up, spilling over as she shook her head. “I feel so stupid,” she choked out. “I gave him everything, Satoru. I loved him, and he... he lied to me. Over and over again.”

“You’re not stupid,” he said firmly, his voice low but steady. “You trusted him. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

She looked at him then, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. “Why does it hurt so much?” she whispered. “Why does it feel like I’ll never be okay again?”

Satoru hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Because you’re human,” he said softly. “And because you cared. But you’re stronger than this pain, [Name]. I know you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. She wanted to believe him, to hold onto the hope he was offering, but the wounds felt too fresh, too deep. Still, as he sat there beside her, his hand in hers, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in days—comfort.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Satoru broke the silence, his voice unusually low and serious. “Yo said something before he got taken.”

[Name]'s gaze snapped up to meet his. “What did he say?”

Satoru hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. “‘Be careful who you trust. You already know who did this.’”

The pit in [Name]’s stomach deepened, a cold dread settling in her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think... Suguru?”

Satoru let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I know.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean? How can you be sure?”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yo trusted Suguru. He gave him money to keep safe — money that disappeared right before Yo got arrested. And Suguru... he’s been acting off. Covering his tracks, making sure no one digs too deep into what he’s been doing.”

[Name] felt her hands trembling in her lap. She clenched them into fists, trying to ground herself. “But why would he... why would he throw Yo under the bus like that?”

“Because Suguru only cares about one thing — himself,” Satoru said bitterly. “He’s always been good at pretending to be the perfect friend, the perfect guy. But when it comes down to it, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his own ass.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had spent so long defending Suguru, convincing herself that the good she had seen in him outweighed the bad. But now, piece by piece, the façade was crumbling, leaving behind a version of him she barely recognized.

“You knew,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the weight of his guilt was almost unbearable to look at. “I suspected,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to believe it. I thought... I thought I could handle it, keep it from affecting anyone else. But then Yo... and then you...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I should’ve said something sooner. I’m sorry.”

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over for the nth tme today. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. “I trusted him, Satoru. I loved him. How could he do this?”

Satoru reached across the couch, his hand closing over hers. His grip was firm, steady, as if he was trying to anchor her in the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Because he’s not who you thought he was,” he said quietly. “But that’s not your fault. You’re not the one who lied, or manipulated, or betrayed people who cared about you. That’s on him.”

She stared at their joined hands, her vision blurred by tears. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort, but it couldn’t drown out the pain clawing at her chest. “I feel so stupid,” she whispered. “For not seeing it sooner.”

“You’re not stupid,” Satoru said firmly. “You saw the good in him because you wanted to believe in him. That’s not a weakness — it’s just who you are. And it’s why he doesn’t deserve you.”

His words were a balm to her broken heart, but they also left her feeling raw and exposed. She had spent so long trying to piece together the cracks in her relationship with Suguru, only to realize that the foundation had been rotting all along. Now, all she could do was pick up the pieces of herself and try to move forward.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “For being here.”

Satoru smiled, a faint, tired curve of his lips. “Always.”

For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe him.

The next day, [Name] and Utahime stood side by side outside Suguru’s apartment, their shared determination a fragile shield against the storm that awaited inside. Utahime had spent the night meticulously compiling every piece of evidence — photos, screenshots of messages, time-stamped receipts. Her anger was a wildfire, barely contained, while [Name] carried a quieter, heavier pain, like a wound too deep to heal.

When Suguru opened the door, his expression flickered with surprise and then irritation. “What are you two doing here?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with forced nonchalance.

“Let’s not play games, Suguru,” Utahime said, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “We’re here to talk. Or, more accurately, to show you exactly what kind of person you really are.”

[Name] followed in silence, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter her ribcage. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a hundred times, but now that it was here, the words felt lodged in her throat.

Suguru closed the door with a sigh, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

Utahime didn’t waste a second. She dropped a folder onto the coffee table, its contents spilling out: photos of him and Shoko together, text messages exchanged late at night, and receipts that painted a picture Suguru couldn’t deny.

“What is this?” he scoffed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

“This,” Utahime snapped, her voice shaking with fury, “is the truth. The truth about you and Shoko. The lies you’ve been feeding [Name]. The image you’ve worked so hard to protect while you’ve been sneaking around behind her back.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Utahime let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been so careful, haven’t you? So confident that no one would catch you. But you slipped up, Suguru. And now, here we are.”

He turned to [Name], his expression softening, as if trying to appeal to her. “You’re really going to believe this? She’s twisting things — making it seem worse than it is.”

[Name] met his gaze, her eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, the room was silent, her pain a tangible thing that seemed to fill the air. “I don’t need her to twist anything, Suguru,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen enough. I know enough.”

“[Name],” he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, manipulative tone that once would have made her second-guess everything. “You have to understand — things weren’t what they seemed. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice gaining strength. “You meant for it to happen. You just didn’t mean to get caught.”

He flinched, the mask he wore beginning to crack under the weight of her words. “You don’t know how hard things have been for me,” he said, trying a new angle, his voice laced with self-pity. “I was lost, okay? I made mistakes, but — ”

“Mistakes?” Utahime cut in, her voice rising. “Mistakes don’t span months, Suguru. They don’t include calculated lies and sneaking around. You didn’t ‘make a mistake’ — you made a choice. Over and over again.”

[Name] felt tears spilling over, but she didn’t wipe them away. “Do you even care, Suguru?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Or are we all just... people you can use to make yourself feel better? To protect this perfect little image of yours?”

He didn’t answer. The silence spoke louder than any denial ever could.

Utahime stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll all just... what? Forgive you? Look the other way? You’re not untouchable, Suguru. You’re just a liar. A coward.”

[Name] took a deep, shuddering breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, her voice hollow. “I’m done. You’ve lost our relationship, Suguru. And soon, you’ll lose everyone else too.”

Suguru opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. He watched as they turned and walked out of his apartment, the door slamming shut behind them.

For a long moment, he stood there in silence, the echoes of their confrontation ringing in his ears. Slowly, he sank into the nearest chair, his hands trembling as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around him, a bitter comfort in the suffocating emptiness that now filled the room.

He stared at the scattered evidence on the coffee table, his vision blurring. For years, he’d thought he could control everything — his image, his relationships, his secrets. He had believed he was smarter than everyone else, untouchable in his manipulation. But now, it was all crumbling. The weight of his lies pressed down on him, heavier than he could bear.

For the first time in years, Suguru felt the full extent of his loneliness. He had pushed away the people who cared about him, betrayed the trust they had placed in him, and destroyed the connections that once anchored him. And now, all he had was the smoke curling in the dim light and the crushing realization that he had no one to blame but himself.

He leaned back, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands shaking as he exhaled. The emptiness was suffocating. He thought of [Name], her tear-streaked face, and the finality in her voice. He thought of Satoru, Yo, Utahime, Riko, Shoko and the laughter they used to share.

It was gone now — all of it. And deep down, he knew it would never come back.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[childrenofcain-if]

DEMO ✝ BACK-UP ACCOUNT

Wealth. Power. Death.

The Ballad of the Young Gods is a dark academia interactive fiction story, with dark fantasy and psychological thriller themes. Some of the romances also contain tropes and storylines which may be disturbing to some readers.

It is based on media like “Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo, “The Secret History” by Donna Tart, “Masters of Death” by Olivie Blake, and SYFY’s “Deadly Class”.

It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, sexual themes, violence, and death.

Getting into an Ivy League school is a dream that thousands of American students nurse from a young age. Luckily for you, that dream is your reality. Four years of continuous hard work and pressure have made you a proud freshman at Yale University. And as if that wasn’t enough, you have been handpicked to attend Rathore College, whose selection process is revered across all the nation’s top educational institutions. But you should’ve known this stroke of luck came with a catch.

Yale is a crucible of power, where secret societies wield arcane magic and the dead are far from silent. The illustrious House of Styx wants you and this is a situation that not even your money can get you out of.

They are powerful, elite, and most of all, controlling beyond recognition. They are also the heart of the eight secret societies that attach themselves to Yale. From the White House to Hollywood’s most acclaimed stars, their influence reaches farther than anyone can dare to imagine.

A sinister conspiracy brews under Styx’s watchful gaze, one that threatens to unravel the fragile balance between the living and the dead. But in a graveyard of secrets, you and your accomplices are the ones with the shovels. You’re now in a world where the past is never truly dead, and the lines between life and death blur with each passing day.

But some secrets are better left buried, and some prophecies are destined to drag you to hell.

Cédric Armand Lacroix / Céline Armelle Lacroix (M/F)

Vindictive. Conniving. Ruthless.

As the heir to the Lacroix fortune, C is every bit as arrogant as their bloodline demands them to be. Even after the messy divorce of their parents which further led to their disownment by their father, Alain Lacroix, they refuse to give up on their dignity. They’ve vowed to destroy him one day and take what’s rightful theirs, brick by brick. The world bent to C’s whims, what money couldn't buy them, those pale green eyes probably did.

There is nothing that they can’t have, especially if they set their mind to that. That is until you came along and stayed one step ahead of them every time in everything that mattered. It wasn’t just the fortune or the legacy at stake; it was the bruising of their pride, the constant reminder that someone—anyone—could outmaneuver them. But beneath the layers of resentment and anger, there’s something more—something darker, even more dangerous.

An obsession takes root, one that blurs the line between hatred and fascination. And they vow to spend their whole life despising you for everything.

Romance trope: Enemies / Academic Rivals to Lovers.

Vance Kasper Næsholm / Vanessa Karina Næsholm (M/F)

Pious. Haunted. Disillusioned.

Raised under the oppressive influence of a rigid, fire-and-brimstone faith in a Danish Catholic orphanage, they were taught to see demons in every shadow and sin in every touch. Forever haunted by the visions provided by a wrathful God they can neither fully grasp their mind around nor escape from, their only reprieve came on the day they got adopted at the age of six and diagnosed with schizophrenia. But the truth of their ‘psychosis’ may be far more sinister than any medical diagnosis could account for.

As the tides become even stormier and their medications become ineffective when they arrive at Yale, all V can do is hold on to the last threads of control over their lives. Your first meeting almost makes them teeter over the edge.

Now that they’re your roommate, they’re bound to you by fate or folly, but whether they’ll be a stable ally remains to be seen.

Romance trope: Roommate Romance.

Wilhelm Johann Ostendorf / Wilhelmine Johanna Ostendorf (M/F)

Exhausted. Abandoned. Lost.

What does the world think of you when you’re a product of brilliance and neglect at the same time? With an Oscar-winning filmmaker for a father and a mother ensconced on the American board of directors at the Louvre, their pedigree is undeniable, yet it is a legacy more hollow than it appears. While their parents sculpted their careers into masterpieces and amassed accolades, they left W to be raised by their paternal aunt and uncle. A sizeable trust fund and periodic checks served as their parents’ only gestures of care, a shallow substitute for the love and attention their only child so desperately craved.

The only times they had felt more than someone who was deeply unlovable were the summers you spent on rusty swingsets and fast bicycles with training wheels. But the swingsets have long been dismantled, and the bicycles have been traded for cars.

The only questions remain—are you the same kid who saw them, really saw them, beyond the reality of being unwanted and the suffocating looks filled with pity that came with their name? Or will this reunion only serve to confirm their deepest fear—that they are, and always have been, truly alone?

Romance trope: Forgotten Childhood Friends to Lovers.

Dumitru Constantin Diaconu / Dumitra Constantina Diaconu (M/F)

Charismatic. Reckless. Guarded.

D’s name is the one that comes up in almost every conversation about Yale’s wildest parties. A natural-born rockstar charmer with a magnetic presence, they effortlessly draw people into their orbit, collecting hearts and bodies with the ease of someone who’s always been in the center of the gold rush. Despite the countless admirers and the trail of broken hearts left in their wake, you’ll always find them with a Marlboro between their lips and a new person in their arms to warm their bed at night. Their smile is a promise, and their laughter a siren call. In the haze of flashing lights and the thrum of bass that pulses through the walls, they are a heartbreaker in every sense of the word.

Feelings are a complication they don’t allow, a line they never cross. They’ve perfected the art of detachment, of keeping their connections strictly no-strings, because to let someone in would be to risk the vulnerability they’ve long since sworn off.

Will you be the only person they'd let peel back the barbed wire surrounding their heart? Or will you be left with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and a tale that wasn't meant to be?

Romance trope: Friends with Benefits / Sex First, Feelings Later. [You will only be able to unlock their romance route through a hookup.]

Maxwell Edmund Whitlock-Singh / Maxine Edythe Whitlock-Singh (M/F)

Duty-bound. Noble. Untouchable.

Politeness and decorum are second nature to M. They are the embodiment of manners, a living testament to the art of subtlety in a world where spectacle often trumps substance. They are the sort of person who commands attention without seeking it, a product of both royal blood and rigorous self-discipline. Dubbed the “Paragon of Styx,” M is a modern Plato, someone who finds as much solace in philosophical debates as in the classical texts they’ve devoured in multiple languages. As the second-born child of the Crown Princess of Wales, they have always understood that their life would be one of service with every action scrutinized, and every word weighed.

Their intellect is vast, but it is their passion for the esoteric that sets them apart. For all their convictions, there is a restlessness within M that even they cannot fully articulate. It is the paradox of their existence—a life of privilege that feels at times like a gilded cage, a role that demands both reverence and obedience. Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Will you make them realize that life is more than duties and expectations? Or will you become yet another figure in the background, another reminder of the golden cage they were born into?

Romance trope: Forbidden Royal Romance / Secret Relationship.

Step into the shadows as the wealthy heir apparent to a billion-dollar industry who is just starting at Yale University as a freshman.

Be a part of Yale’s most enigmatic secret society, the House of Styx.

Fully customize your character including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality, and more.

Romance 1 out of 5 love interests (all of them are gender-selectable).

Study forbidden knowledge, practice dark magic, and try not to fail at your actual coursework.

Test your mind, body, and soul in rituals that blur the line between reality and nightmare.

Learn about the secrets that your mother took to her grave. Is she really the same woman you remember so fondly from your childhood?

Will you rise to navigate the sinister plans brewing under the nose of the House? Or will your actions drag you and your companions to the fiery depths of Hell.

W̶̗͖̝͆h̷͕̲̑̎̓̍̄̎͠͝a̵̢̛̫̾̓͗t̴̙̫͛̐͆̾̀̓̔̊͝ ̴̪́́̈́͛̂̉̀͒̊́ạ̸̗̯̲̘̬͗̀ͅr̸̢̪̜̭̼̠̟̜͚̂̈́͋͋̅͑̉́̎͝e̸̩̯͉̿̊̔͛̃̎͝ͅ ̵̢̹̜̤͍͙̩̬̰̜̏̃͝͠y̷̢̨͇̘͍̌́͐̍̆̓̑̐ǫ̶̢̧̡̛̥̤͉͎̟̃̏̍̓̒ͅu̷̓̂̾̇̇͜͝,̸͎̖̮̲̳̻̱̬̎̒͑͝ ̸̡̛̰̌͐c̶̛̪̗̰̻̜̲̘̺͗͊h̴̡͔̦̘̤̖͊̿̓̇i̵͉̘͙̥͍̼̜̐̐̄̅͝͝ĺ̶̡̧̧̼̦̦̗̰̝̼̓̊̀d̸̡͎͔͔̰̖̿̐̈́̓͊̌̃̓͜?̷̩̗̲̫̮͕̍̈́́̽͜͝͝

DEMO

RO DETAILS

SPOTIFY (for RO playlists, click on their names in the cast section)

PINTEREST

DISCORD

WRITTEN BY: axel (he/him)

CODED BY: @albywritesfiction (they/them)

[anantaru]

・✶ ｡ synopsis — fucking your enemy doesn't really sound like a good plan or wait, maybe it does! <3

warnings — enemies to lovers, fingering, playful childe, fem! reader

childe always approaches you with that damn smirk on his face, his gaze intense and unwavering, a sprinkle of confidence playing on his lips.

the harbinger had always been your enemy, the embodiment of danger and excitement, and despite the many battles the both of you had fought, you couldn't lie to yourself but admit that there was an undeniable pull between you— a connection you refused to acknowledge, even to yourself at times.

"ah, you fought well today," childe's was barely out of breath as he throws his hands up in the air to feign defeat, his voice low and husky, a dangerous edge to his tone, "but you're not as strong as you think you are, heh."

without batting your lashes, you glare back at him with your body tense of anger, every single nerve inside on edge, "—and you're still as arrogant as ever, childe."

fuck, how much he adored it whenever you showed him a little of your sweet temper, it's a little salty too but he doesn't mind that— in fact, it gets him going and arouses something deep below.

naturally his smirk widens the moment you say it, his eyes darkening with something far more primal that he'd originally let on, "me? arrogant? oh am i? or am i just confident?"

you roll your eyes and before you could even find a good enough response, he instantly closes the distance between you in a swift stride— without haste, folding your spirit in half with his presence becoming overwhelming.

in an attempt to turn around and leave his hand grabs towards your arm, gripping your wrist with a surprising gentleness that was never experienced before by you, yet with the strength you've known far too well, one that left no room for escape.

"you think you can hide it from me? i can see it in your eyes, you know," he murmurs underneath his heightened breathing, slanting towards your face closer and closer until you could feel his warm breath against your ear, "the way you look at me, you see? the way your body reacts when I'm near like that— ugh, you're so shy, but I know you've been dreaming about this, as have i, or haven’t you?"

your heart races at the absurdity in his sentence— or was there even a sprinkle of a lie inside of it? how long until you cannot run from the feelings you harbored for him anymore? or was it simply lust that kept the drive inside of yourself working.

a mixture of fear yet also excitement floods your senses— you really wanted to deny it, to push him away, but the truth was, his words struck a deep chord within you, you're doomed and yes, in fact, you had dreams about him— of feeling him inside you, feeling his cock twitch and thicken while he's grinding himself in you, fucking your tight cunt as the fantasies of surrendering to the raw, forbidden desire consumed you.

you knew he must be good in bed, amazing even, there was no chance in hell that he wasn't with that striking personality of his.

"cut the crap childe, i don't know what you're talking about," you stammer back, but my dear, don't you hear? your voice betrayed you just this second, right in front of his eyes as you began to tremble with the weight of your secret longing dying to be set free.

"oh? but i think you do," he whispers before saying your name so sensually that it felt like someone's set your body on fire.

the man continues as his lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck;

"you've wanted this for so long, right? this—"

and before you could muster a response, his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that made your brain rewire, the touch of his lips strong and ruthless as one hand slid up to cup the back of your head, holding you firmly in place.

you weren't surprised by how childe kissed you, in fact, you imagined how it felt like— granted, it was better than you originally fantasized.

the kiss was rough, as if he was looking for an answer, and it shattered the last bit of your very resistance as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your body igniting with a fire you had tried so hard to suppress— yet, was it actually bad that you went against your own beliefs? just this once?

of course, you both were on different sides, supporting different agendas but this— fuck, this, it felt so good, why was the darkness childe expelled so mesmerizing? like biting into a poised apple and still relishing in getting tainted?

the harbingers hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, as if he had every right to do this and his touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine before he pushed you against the cold stone wall, the contrast between the cool surface and his heated skin only heightening your needful senses.

although before going further, he abruptly stopped the kiss, at last lapping across your bottom lip and seeking your gaze, "tell me you want this, i need this," he growls against your lips, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising energy, "tell me you've dreamed of this moment too."

you close your eyes and take a deep breath, a shaky whimper escaping your lips as you felt the grip on you tighten. each one of his touch, his breath hitting your skin and his words played into your beating heart and you couldn't, you just weren't able to stop your body from liking this.

your back arches a little as to show him without words, without needing to admit it— right now, you weren't sure if you could ever say it out loud.

like snowfall, his touch was cold, but it felt oddly comforting.

but you let him move forward as one hand slips beneath your clothes, finding your wetness between your thighs, your folds messed up and puffy for him. "childe i— i... i want this too," you admit against your own volition, the words tumbling out before you could even stop them, "i’ve dreamed of you, childe, maybe..."

you got him now— or, does he have you wrapped around his finger instead? regardless, his eyes blaze with a glistening triumph hanging over his irises as he captures your lips again.

he begins slowly, his fingers working around your hole with expert precision, circling your entrance and collecting your slick with such precision which you originally only knew of his ways of fighting as he coaxes out every inch of your pleasure.

you're writhing and hiding your moans into his chest, the volume of your whimpers growing when he pokes one finger in.

with a growl, he rips your shirt aside to expose your breasts, the fabric tearing in his haste— and before you knew it, his own jacket followed as you helped discard them quickly.

"look at me," he commands, "feel how i touch you there," as his voice resembles a rough whisper.,"i want to see the look in your eyes when i touch and touch you,"

you obeyed, meeting his gaze, your breath hitching as he thrusts one finger into you with a single, powerful flick forward.

the sensation was immediately overwhelming, not due to the fact that he was beginning to stimulate your hole with fast thrusts of his digit fucking in and out of you but the sole thought of childe doing it was the final nail in the coffin.

your heart was beginning to hurt from riding his fingers, furiously rattling against your ribcage as you threw out the last amount of dignity you had inside your body, becoming one with the movements of his hand before starting to seek it.

his wet tongue drags from your neck towards your collar bones before reaching your nipples, immediately taking one in his mouth as the heel of his hand began to press into your clit painfully hard, the feeling only multiplying when you shoved yourself into it more, better and deeper, until your body flashes you with a heat you cannot escape.

one more finger, more, and each pump turned rougher and moredemanding with the pace of his hand being relentless, cruel as you almost climaxed by just looking at him— how his wet lips left a trail of saliva on your slicked chest and ugh, that delirious glimmer in his eyes. 

childe truly likes the feeling of you clenching around his knuckles, he might become addicted to it, and he believes he'd actually die a happy man if he'd be able to feel you squeeze around his thick cock like that.

but you have to do it just like that, with your pussy drooling over his desperately and touch depraved, so he could taste you right after, yeah? have you all around his tongue.

he's not sure if he can even fit inside, ah, how excited he gets when he imagines your eyes glow and turn all big and pretty when he lets you see him from below his clothes— he knows for a fact he will make it fit.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[kisakis-boyfriend]

OH SHIT UH baizhu x monster reader because I've been thinking about him lately. maybe something dubcon-y? I love pathetic men whimpering and crying 🎃

Author's Note: My mind went places, y'all… very horny places. 💀

Pairings: Baizhu x male reader

Warnings: Male plant monster!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Baizhu, sort of gullible Baizhu, dubcon, handjob, facial, riding, aphrodisiac, mild dumbification

Why he had to run out of this particular herb was beyond him. As if that wasn't annoying enough, his suppliers were out of stock and wouldn't be able to ship him any more. The location of this herb has become increasingly dangerous, and no one could figure out why the men sent to gather these herbs came back… weird, to say the least. Nonetheless, Baizhu needed those herbs to treat his patients.

Was it a stupid idea to travel out there by himself and gather them by hand; yes, most certainly, and Changsheng told him as much, but a doctor's mind is a puzzling thing.

And that's how he ended up here; in the high mountains of Chenyu Vale. Normally, one would expect to run into a few monsters, at the very least, but Baizhu had yet to see a single one during his trek. There were plenty of other creatures, and the foliage didn't seem withered, so it's not as if this place was devoid of life nor on a biological decline—there was simply a lack of danger. Which is a strange occurrence, considering the reports he'd read…

That fact really should be comforting to the frail doctor, but in truth, it made a shiver run down his spine. His eyes nervously scanned over the immediate grassy grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the herb he so desperately needed — desperate enough to set foot on this mountain alone.

It took a bit more searching, but the herb in question was flourishing just around the back of one particular mountain. Baizhu carefully made his way towards the area, picking one herb and inspecting it to check its quality and that it was, in fact, the correct herb. Picking a few more, Baizhu comes across one plant that refuses to be plucked — an unusually tough herb, resisting his attempts to yank it out from the dirt.

As he goes to inspect the stem, a soft voice cries out; “U-um… excuse me? Could you help me…?” Looking over his shoulder, the doctor spots a person's head sticking up out of the ground—except their skin has a pale green hue to it, and as this person rises up, he notices how the ground around them shifts; as though the ground is a part of them.

Baizhu turns halfway, cautiously keeping an eye on you as he questions, “…What do you need help with?” The way your body flows effortlessly when you move—creating ripples in the immediate area around your torso—piques Baizhu's curiosity.

“O-oh! Um… it's a little embarrassing, if I'm being honest, sir…” you begin, “As you've probably guessed, I am not a human — think of me as a type of dendro spirit, I guess? Uh, anyways, there's this…ritual, of sorts, that only a human can help me with–”

The whole time you're explaining this predicament of yours, Baizhu keeps a watchful eye on you to make sure you're not tricking him. Even though you come across as rather sheepish.

“…I understand if you don't trust me, I just don't know what else to do…humans don't come around here too often, and the pain has become so much worse–”

“I'll help you.” He interjects. The sparkles in your eyes force him to hold back a chuckle as you thank him a million times over. “Please take me to this plant of yours.”

You excitedly take off, essentially a torso and head gliding halfway inside the ground, while this kind human with green hair trails just behind. Arriving at your destination, Baizhu kneels down, giving you a glance, and you return it nervously.

Baizhu eyes the plant inquisitively, staring at the odd shape and strange fleshy texture of the whole thing.

“Go on, doctor, I-I'm ready…” you prompt, giving the man a shy smile to mask your nerves.

With a quick breath to strengthen his resolve, the doctor raises his hands, wrapping them both around the plant and lightly squeezing it until a wet substance seeps out through the petals. “A-ah! aAh-” you gasp suddenly.

“I'm sorry—did that hurt?!”

You shake your head, nearly whimpering as you try to assure him, “N-no… just surprised me. Your hands… they're a bit cold…”

“My apologies, they should warm up soon enough. Shall we keep going?” Said like a true doctor. This stranger with kind eyes has been nothing but gentle with you so far, helping out a non-human creature whom he only met a few minutes ago, even if he finds your request a tad strange.

More wetness falls down his hands, pouring from the plant the more he squeezes and twists his hands around the elongated object. He experimentally moves his hands to other areas, and when Baizhu's thumbs rub and press on the tip of the plant, you're unable to hold back a sharp intake of air. Your eyes roll back momentarily, and you chomp down on your lower lip to conceal the noises threatening to escape.

The doctor eyes your pained expressions with worry written all over his face. “It's… fine — I'm fine. The pain… is not that bad… please, don't stop, doctor.”

As you wish, Baizhu milks more and more liquid from the plant, creating a pool of it underneath the stem of the plant—gradually creeping towards his knees and threatening to soak his pants. For the most part, it feels and looks like regular water, but there's a faint sensation of stickiness on his palms, close to the surface of the plant.

While this is supposed to be a medical procedure, Baizhu can't help feeling a bit… embarrassed by the whole situation. This plant of yours—it is a bit phallic. Not to mention how the method used to wring out the liquid is akin to… uh, a specific hand movement performed on phallic objects. The suggestive sounds coming from your mouth don't help that either. Baizhu can't ignore you when you moan out “Faster… faster, doctor- aah~ Keep stroking it like that… it's definitely woRKING-!”

The more Baizhu watches himself squeeze the glistening liquid from your plant, the deeper into a trance he falls — soon enough he's fallen so deep that he shamelessly jerks off the phallic plant until the tip opens up and explodes like a volcano; shooting thick, honey-like ropes all over Baizhu's pretty face.

The substance drips all down his features — clumping in strands of hair, clinging to his glasses, dripping from his nose and chin, and even a little sliding into his open mouth. “A-ah! Y-you… you did it… you made me release it all, doctor~” you comment — your words are the only thing penetrating that fuzzy mind of his right now. “Thank you soooo much~ But, could I trouble you with one more thing?” you lean forward, gently holding the doctor's chin so that he can't turn away from you. “Won't you help me again? It's the only way for me to feel all better.”

“Aah…? I don't… understand…” Baizhu breathes, confused and seemingly in a daze. It's such a precious sight to behold, really.

You reach out and slide a hand up and down the doctor's stomach, teasingly pushing his top up a few times before moving towards the edge of his pants. “You'll help me, won't you? You're such a kind doctor, after all~” you remind him. Baizhu's pants are quickly yanked down, removed the rest of the way by vines that the good doctor never noticed before…

With his sensitive areas laid bare for you to see, Baizhu gasps, frozen in place as your hands feel up his waist and thighs, pushing the latter apart so that you can inspect his body. Sliding two fingers towards his rear, you find that special hole humans have and tease around the rim of it. “Aha! There it is. I'm sorry to ask so much of you, but… I really need this right now.”

While he has no idea what you mean, the doctor senses something amiss within your words. Your fingers attempt to push inside of him, and Baizhu clumsily refuses. “I-I don't think… don't think that I can do that, young man… mm ooh~”

Impatiently, you lift him up and pull him towards you, hovering his hole right above the plant he'd previously milked. A little burst of liquid shoots from the tip, splashing against Baizhu's entrance, which startles him. The consistency of the liquid feels just like the substance it coated his face in earlier; thick, sticky, and warm.

While Baizhu's mind tries to resist, his body is doing quite the opposite, already lowering itself down until the tip of the plant is entering his ass. “A-AAH! Wait–!” he begs. But it's too little too late as your phallic plant penetrates him with ease, thanks to that honey-like fluid. The fleshy appendage pushes a wave of liquid inside his hole, and it creates a wet mess all over his ass, thighs, and the ground below as you begin to fuck him.

“Mm doctor… you feel incredible~ Hehe, look at that—this little guy is having fun too~” Baizhu blushes deeply, shaking his head while you watch his cock bounce every time your plant cock thrusts in.

“N-no… please, harder–! This is weird… aah~ so good~ ” the doctor grits his teeth, biting his lower lip as he grows frustrated by his own mouth betraying him. The cutest whimpers are the only sounds coming from his mouth as you continue your assault on his hole, thrusting your plant deeper and deeper. The amount of liquid gushing out of Baizhu's ass is ungodly now; sticky, squelchy, slick fluids that overflow with every thrust, filling his tummy until it hurts with how full it is.

“You're doing amazing, doctor! That terrible ache is almost gone, I j-just need to– guh!” you suddenly slam your hips into him, laughing as a pang of pleasure wracks your body and causes you to bury your cock in him. Your hands fly to his waist, and you bounce the human while he whimpers some more.

Tears begin to roll down Baizhu's cheeks, staining his glasses with a salty film as you release another round of that thick substance; this time inside the doctor's body. You pant wildly, mere inches from his face while your plant cock spreads open inside of his hole, releasing far too much liquid inside his belly.

[d-targaryenshoe]

To Protect And Adore - Aegon II Targaryen

Word Count: 1219

Summary: Queen nor a Princess shall threaten an unborn child, should they? Most surely not if it's the king's child.

The dragonfire flickered and danced in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the Red Keep.

You sat in the dim light, your hands protectively cradling your swollen belly.

The child within you was a secret you had kept for as long as possible, but the inevitable truth could no longer be hidden.

You were with Aegon's child, a fact that could change many lives.

Aegon Targaryen, the king, had taken you as his mistress at the time when his marriage to Helaena had been strained and loveless.

You were no noblewoman, but your beauty and grace had caught the eye of the dragon king.

What began as a passionate affair soon deepened into something more, and now, you carried the heir to the throne within you.

But with Helaena's tragic death, the court was rife with intrigue and whispers.

Power was up for grabs, and the position of queen was vacant.

As you sat in the quiet of your chambers, a knock at the door disrupted your thoughts.

Before you could respond, the door swung open and Alicent Hightower swept into the room.

Her face was a mask of cold fury.

"Y/n," she began, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You should not have allowed this to happen."

You rose to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. "Your Grace," you said, bowing your head slightly. "I did not intend for any of this."

Alicent's eyes narrowed. "Yet here we are. You are carrying my son's child, a bastard that will only bring disgrace and scandal to this house."

You felt a surge of protectiveness for your unborn child. "He is Aegon's son, and nothing will change that."

Alicent stepped closer, her expression growing darker. "You are a fool if you think I will permit this child to live. There are ways to deal with such inconveniences."

Fear gripped you, but you stood your ground. "You would not dare harm your grandchild."

Alicent's smile was chilling. "You underestimate me. If you value your life and that of your child, you will leave and never return."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to show weakness. "Aegon will protect us. He loves me, and he will not stand for this."

Alicent laughed, a cold, bitter sound.

"Aegon is weak. He is ruled by his desires, not his mind. But you are correct about one thing, he will protect you, at least for now. But even he cannot disobey me forever."

With that, Alicent turned and swept out of the room, leaving you trembling and alone.

You knew you had to tell Aegon, but fear for his reaction and what it might cost him stayed in your hand for a moment.

You could not put it off any longer.

The next morning, you went to his chambers.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand.

His violet eyes lit up when he saw you, but his smile faded when he saw your expression.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the goblet aside and rising to his feet.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"Aegon, I need to tell you something. Your mother... she threatened me and our child. She told me to leave or she would... she would see to it that our child did not survive."

Aegon's face darkened with fury. "She said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I am frightened, Aegon. I do not know what to do."

Aegon's hands clenched into fists, and he turned away, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"She has gone too far this time," he muttered. "I will not let her harm you or our child."

He strode towards the door, and you hurried after him. "Aegon, please, do not do anything rash. She is your mother."

He turned to you, his eyes blazing. "She may be my mother, but she has overstepped her limits. No one threatens my family. No one."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you to follow in his wake.

You found Alicent in the throne room, deep in conversation with one of her advisors.

She looked up, startled, as Aegon burst in.

"Aegon, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, rising to her feet.

Aegon strode up to her, his face a mask of fury. "You threatened y/n and our child," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"You think you can control me, manipulate me, but you are mistaken. I will not let you hurt them."

Alicent's eyes flashed with anger. "I am your mother, and I know what is best for this kingdom. That child is a threat to everything we have created."

Aegon took a step closer, pressing a finger to his mother's chest. "You do not get to decide who lives and who dies. I am the king, and I will protect those I love. If you ever threaten y/n or our child again, I will see to it that you are punished for this."

Alicent's face paled. "You would not dare."

Aegon grabbed her arm, his grip firm. "Try me."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Then Alicent wrenched her arm free and took a step back, her expression one of fury and disbelief.

"You will regret this, Aegon," she spat. "You are making a mistake."

Aegon shook his head. "The only mistake I made was not standing up to you sooner. Y/n is carrying my child, and I will marry her. She will be queen, and our child will be the heir to the throne."

Alicent's eyes widened with shock. "You cannot be serious. The nobles will never accept her."

Aegon turned to you, who had been standing silently by his side.

He took your hand and looked into your eyes. "I am very serious. I love her, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her and our child."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, you knew you would face whatever came together.

Aegon was willing to fight his mother, and risk everything, for your love and your child.

Alicent stood there, her face a mask of fury and disbelief. "You are a fool, Aegon. This will be your undoing."

Aegon turned back to her, his expression hard. "If protecting my family is my undoing, then so be it. I will not be a puppet for you to bear. This is my decision, and it is final."

With that, he led you out of the throne room, leaving Alicent to fume in silence.

As you walked down the corridors of the Red Keep, Aegon squeezed your hand.

"Do not worry," he said softly. "I will keep you safe. No one will harm you or our child."

You nodded, tears of relief streaming down your face. "I know. I trust you."

Together, you faced the uncertain future, your love and determination stronger than ever.

Despite the challenges and dangers ahead, you knew you could overcome anything as long as you were together.

Aegon's promise to protect his family was a vow that would never be broken, and your love would become the foundation of a new era for the Targaryen dynasty.

[srslyblvck]

a dare too far, james potter [ Part II ]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: james was dared to make you fall in love with him. unknown to him, he was falling for you too. But soon the truth comes out, and you are left heartbroken.

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of y/n, heartbreak

word count: 5.5k [ a/n: what can i say, i lost track lmao ]

part I

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE DAYS FOLLOWING YOUR discovery had been a blur of pain and confusion. You had avoided James like the plague, refusing to even look in his direction. Your heart still ached, but your pride and self-respect kept you from falling apart in front of everyone.

It wasn’t long before your friends—Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence—noticed something was wrong. They knew you too well, and your sudden distance from James didn’t go unnoticed. You hadn’t said a word about what had happened, but one afternoon, while you sat with them at lunch, Florence finally broke the silence.

“Y/N,” she began softly, “what happened with James?”

Your fork stilled in your hand, and for a moment, you debated lying. But the weight of it all was too much to bear alone, and with a deep breath, you told them everything. From the dare to your overheard conversation in the library, every heartbreaking detail spilt out. By the time you finished, your friends were fuming.

“He did what?” Archie’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

Leonard, usually calm and rational, had gone stiff, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. “He was using you… for a stupid dare? Merlin’s beard…”

Autumn reached across the table to grasp your hand, her face a mix of empathy and fury. “That—that is despicable.”

Florence was quieter, but her steely expression said it all. She had always been protective of you, and seeing you hurt had ignited something fierce within her.

Archie was the first to stand, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape. “Where are they?” he asked, his voice like ice. “Where’s Potter and his pack of idiots?”

You shook your head, reaching out to stop him. “Archie, please—don’t do anything. It’s not worth it.”

But Archie’s mind was made up. “Not worth it? He messed with your heart, Y/N. He hurt you. That’s more than worth it.”

Leonard and Autumn exchanged a glance, and Leonard stood as well, his usually calm face clouded with anger. “He’s not getting away with this.”

“I don’t want you to fight—” you tried again, but Archie had already turned to leave, his face set in grim determination.

“You don’t have to come,” he said, his voice softer now, though still filled with anger. “But I’m not letting this slide.”

Before you could say another word, Archie and the others were already storming out of the Great Hall, leaving you behind. A heavy sense of dread settled over you as you watched them go.

Archie didn’t need long to find them. James and his friends were walking through the hallway just outside the Great Hall, laughing about something Sirius had said, completely unaware of the storm heading their way.

Without warning, Archie charged forward, grabbing James by the front of his robes and slamming him into the stone wall with a loud thud. The sound echoed through the hallway, silencing the students nearby who had been watching.

James let out a grunt of surprise, but before he could say anything, Archie’s fist connected with his jaw in a solid punch. James staggered against the wall, his hand flying to his face as he winced in pain.

“You think you can just mess with her like that?” Archie growled, pinning James to the wall again, his face inches from his. “You think you can just play with her feelings and walk away without a scratch?”

James blinked, still reeling from the punch, but when he met Archie’s eyes, there was no deflection or defense in his gaze. There was only guilt. “Archie, wait—”

“No, you don’t get to explain!” Archie spat, shoving him harder against the wall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? You broke her!”

Sirius stepped forward, his eyes flashing angrily. “Oi, get your hands off him—”

But Leonard blocked Sirius’s path, his expression dark and uncharacteristically cold. “Back off, Black. He had this coming.”

“Look, mate, we didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Sirius said, trying to reason with Leonard, though his voice lacked sincerity. “It was just a stupid joke.”

Autumn, standing beside Florence, scoffed. “A joke? You think it’s a joke to toy with someone’s feelings? You think it’s funny to break someone’s heart?”

Remus, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice soft but firm. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Archie. James didn’t mean—”

But Archie wasn’t listening. “I don’t care what he meant! He knew what he was doing. You all did. You think you can just play with people’s lives because you’re the Marauders, huh? Because you’re so damn popular?”

James, his cheek red from the punch, swallowed hard. “Archie… I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” Archie snapped, pushing James harder against the wall. “You knew what you were doing. You used her for a dare—you made her believe she could trust you. That she could actually care about you. And you did it for what? A joke? To get Evans jealous?”

James opened his mouth, but no words came out. Guilt twisted in his gut, more painful than any punch could have been. He had no defense. No excuse.

“I didn’t mean to—” James started, but Archie cut him off, his voice growing colder.

“You did mean to. You knew exactly what you were doing. You toyed with her feelings and now you’re going to pay for it.”

James felt the weight of Archie’s words settle over him like a lead blanket. He hadn’t wanted it to go this far. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you—but that didn’t change the fact that he had.

Before the situation could escalate any further, the sharp, familiar voice of Professor McGonagall sliced through the crowd.

“Mr. Hatcher! Mr. Potter!”

Professor McGonagall strode into the hallway, her eyes blazing with fury as she took in the scene before her. James was pinned against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his lip, Archie’s fist still clenched tightly in his robes.

“Step away from him, Mr. Hatcher,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Archie hesitated for only a moment before letting go of James with a sharp shove, stepping back but not taking his eyes off him.

McGonagall’s stern gaze moved between the two boys. “Would someone care to explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Archie’s jaw was still clenched, his fists balled at his sides, and James simply wiped the blood from his mouth, his eyes cast downward. He didn’t even try to defend himself.

Seeing that no one was going to speak, McGonagall sighed, her lips thinning into a tight line. “Very well,” she said, her voice icy. “Since neither of you seem inclined to explain, you will both serve detention. One week. Starting tomorrow.”

James nodded, knowing he deserved far worse. Archie, however, still seemed on edge, his glare burning into James even as he stepped back.

McGonagall’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Now, all of you—back to class. This nonsense is over.”

The gathered students began to disperse, and McGonagall gave one last stern look at both boys before turning and walking away, her robes billowing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Archie took a step closer to James, his voice low but dripping with contempt. “Stay away from her, Potter. If you ever come near her again, I’ll make sure that punch is the least of your worries.”

Without another word, Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence walked away, leaving James standing in the hallway, bruised and guilty.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter stood in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. But James just stood there, his back still against the wall, staring after Archie as the weight of his actions pressed down on him.

He had ruined everything.

The following days were unbearable. Everywhere James went, he could feel the tension. Students whispered about him as he passed, and the disapproving stares of his classmates burned into his back. But none of that hurt more than seeing you.

You had become a ghost in his world. You still smiled softly at your friends, still went to class like normal, but you never once looked his way. It was as if he no longer existed to you. And James hated himself for it.

It took him a while, but eventually, he gathered the courage to try and make things right. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. But he had to try.

One afternoon, James found you in the library, sitting alone at one of the tables near the back. He approached slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. You were reading, your eyes scanning the page with an intensity that told him you were trying to ignore him even before he said anything.

“Y/N,” James said quietly, standing a few feet away from you.

You didn’t look up. “What do you want, James?”

He swallowed hard. “I just… I need to talk to you.”

You sighed, closing your book but still refusing to meet his eyes. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

James flinched at the coldness in your voice, but he forced himself to continue. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve messed up in a way that I’ll never be able to fix, but… I want to apologize.”

You remained silent, but your fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the book in your lap.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” he continued, his voice sincere. “It started as something stupid—something I regret more than you’ll ever know. I’ve thought about it every day since then. And I hate myself for it.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression filled with sadness and anger. “You didn’t think about how much it would hurt me, did you? You didn’t care that I might actually fall for you. That I might trust you.”

James shook his head. “I did care. I didn’t realize how much until it was too late. I’m sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to break your heart.”

James swallowed, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I know. I’ll never be able to take back what I did, but… I want to make it right. Somehow.”

You shook your head slightly, your voice soft. “I don’t know if you can.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. James stood there, hoping for a sign, a flicker of something that would let him know he wasn’t too late. But you simply looked back down at your book, your walls firmly back in place.

James left the library that day feeling more hopeless than ever. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Over the next few days, he tried—small acts of kindness that he hoped would show you he was serious about making amends. He held doors open for you, left small notes of apology on your desk, and even helped you with your Potions homework from afar, making sure you had all the right ingredients laid out. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask for anything. He just wanted you to know he cared.

When you walked into class, your desk would be cleared of stray ink stains. A forgotten book would find its way back into your bag, or a note of apology would be slipped into your books. At first, you tried to ignore it all, but eventually, it became impossible to pretend you didn’t notice his efforts.

Despite everything, there was a part of you that still cared for James, a part of you that hated how much you missed the way things had been before the truth came out. It was that small part of you that made it harder to ignore him.

But you tried. You tried not to care. You tried to remind yourself of the hurt, the betrayal. You didn’t want to forgive him… but some days, you found yourself softening, despite everything.

James made sure to keep his distance, always careful to avoid Archie and the rest of your friends. If Archie found out that James was still trying to win back your trust, he’d make sure James regretted it. But James wasn’t doing this for anyone else anymore—not for Sirius, not for Lily. He was doing it for you, hoping that, one day, you might believe in him again.

It was a long process, and you weren’t ready to forgive him completely. But little by little, you began to see glimpses of the James Potter who wasn’t just a reckless boy trying to win a dare. He was something more than that—someone who was genuinely sorry for what he had done.

You still weren’t sure if you could ever fully trust him again. But maybe, just maybe, you could start to forgive him. One small step at a time.

It was a cool, crisp afternoon at Hogwarts, the autumn air biting softly at your skin as you climbed up the empty Quidditch stands. The Gryffindor team had finished their practice a while ago, leaving the pitch quiet, save for the rustling of leaves carried on the wind. You liked coming here after everyone had gone—there was a peace to the open sky and the vastness of the field that made everything else feel distant.

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and settled into one of the seats, letting your eyes wander over the golden leaves scattered across the pitch. For a while, you just sat there, lost in thought, until the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I sit?” James stood at the edge of the row, his broomstick in hand, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. His messy hair was windswept from practice, and there was a tentative smile on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be near you.

Your heart gave a small jolt. You weren’t used to him being this hesitant around you. “Sure,” you replied softly, gesturing to the spot beside you.

He sat down carefully, leaving a bit of space between you, though the air around him still felt warm and familiar. For a few moments, the two of you sat in silence, both staring out at the empty field. The awkwardness between you was palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was more like the calm after a storm, when everything is still fragile, but quiet.

“You used to come to all our games,” James said after a while, his voice low, as though he was afraid of breaking the peace.

“I still do,” you replied, not looking at him. “I just... sit further back now.”

James winced, but nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. Haven’t seen you up close in a while.”

You glanced at him then, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked out at the field. The cocky confidence he’d worn like armor for so long was missing. In its place was something quieter, more genuine.

“I don’t blame you for keeping your distance,” he continued. “I deserve it.”

You hugged your knees closer to your chest, not responding at first. There was still an ache in your heart whenever you thought about what had happened, but the anger was flickering.

“Why do you care so much now?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the wind. “Why are you trying so hard?”

James turned to you, his hazel eyes full of sincerity. “Because I care about you. Really care about you. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt. Not anymore.”

The openness in his voice took you by surprise. You had seen James like this before, but only in fleeting moments. Now, it felt like the bravado had peeled away, leaving someone real beneath the surface.

“You weren’t like this before,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know.” James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I thought I had to be... I don’t know, bigger than life all the time. Like I had to prove something to everyone, especially myself. I’m not proud of that. But you’ve always been real with me, and I wasn’t real with you.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the weight of betrayal as strongly. You felt a little lighter, like maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me all at once,” James added, his voice softer now. “But I want to show you that I can be better, for you."

You looked down at your hands, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “It’s just... hard. Trust doesn’t come back that easily, James.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a little rough. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and you could see how much he meant it. There was no smirk, no playful grin—just James, raw and honest. The boy who had been careless with your heart was trying to make amends, and for the first time, you felt like he truly understood the weight of what he’d done.

The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, you found yourself smiling softly at the familiar sight. “You’ve got ink on your face,” you said, pointing to a smudge near his temple.

James blinked, touching his face with a confused frown. “What—oh.” He chuckled lightly, his expression sheepish. “I guess I got a bit too into planning out that Transfiguration essay.”

You shook your head with a small laugh, the sound surprising both of you. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a tiny crack in the walls you’d built up.

James seemed to catch the change in your mood and his smile widened, though he didn’t press you further. He leaned back in the seat, his gaze shifting back to the field. “You ever flown before?”

“Once,” you said, shrugging. “I’m not really a fan of heights.”

James grinned, the old spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Well, if you ever feel like giving it another go, I’m pretty good at keeping people safe on a broom.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like an old friendship slowly knitting itself back together. You weren’t sure where things would go from here, but for now, sitting here with James felt... nice.

And maybe that was enough for today.

It had taken weeks to come to a decision. Every day, you had wrestled with the memory of what James had done, how he had played with your heart like it was a game. But, as time went on, you couldn't ignore the fact that James had been trying, truly trying, to make things right. You could see it in the way he no longer sought attention, the way he was quietly helping without expecting anything in return.

Forgiveness was hard, but holding onto anger was harder. And you were tired—tired of the pain, tired of feeling like you were carrying a weight that wouldn’t let go. So, with shaky hands and a racing heart, you left a note on James’s desk:

Meet me by the Black Lake at sunset.

You didn’t write more, unsure how you would feel when the moment came. All you knew was that you had to give him—and yourself—a chance.

When James found the note, his heart nearly stopped. He read it over and over, as if afraid it might disappear before his eyes. You wanted to meet him. His mind raced, a thousand possibilities flickering through his head—was this the moment he had been waiting for? Or was it a final goodbye?

His hands trembled as he pocketed the note, trying to calm himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but for the first time in weeks, a spark of hope flickered in his chest.

As sunset approached, James made his way to the Black Lake, his nerves twisting with every step. And there you were, standing by the water’s edge, your arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the gentle ripples on the surface.

James’s heart skipped a beat. You were beautiful in the fading light, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, gathering the courage to approach.

Finally, he took a breath and stepped forward. “Y/N.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, he could see the conflict in your gaze—the hurt that still lingered, but also the kindness that had always been part of you.

You took a deep breath, glancing out at the lake before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking a lot, James. About everything. About how much I was hurt… but also about how you’ve changed.”

James stayed silent, afraid to interrupt, afraid to break the fragile moment you were sharing.

“I’m might be angry,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But I don’t want to hold onto that forever. I don’t want to carry this weight anymore.”

James looked down, his heart heavy with the guilt of everything he had put you through. “I know I hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but… I swear, Y/N, I would do anything to fix this.”

You turned to face him fully, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if things will ever be the same, James. But I want to try. I want to give you a chance… to prove that this isn’t just another game.”

James’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean… you’re giving me another chance?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes. But it’s not going to be easy, James. Trust takes time to rebuild.”

For a moment, James stood frozen, processing your words. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His touch was warm, and careful, like he was afraid you might pull away. He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I swear to you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I will never, ever hurt you like that again. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m worth trusting. I promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the warmth of his hands on your cheeks grounding you as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the truth in his words, the genuine regret and longing behind them. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

Slowly, almost instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the tension between you melted away. When you opened your eyes again, James was still watching you, his gaze filled with hope and affection.

For a moment, everything felt right. You were standing by the lake, the world around you peaceful and quiet, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to feel that flicker of warmth you had tried so hard to ignore.

But just as you thought things might finally fall into place, a voice cut through the serene air like a blade.

“What the hell is this?”

Your heart dropped as you turned to see Archie storming toward you, his face twisted in anger. He had seen you together. James dropped his hands from your face, stepping back, but Archie was already closing the distance between you.

“Y/N, get out of the way,” Archie growled, his eyes locked on James. “I’m not letting him get away with this again.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Potter,” Archie growled, his fists clenched as he glared at James. “What did I tell you? You think you can just worm your way back into her life after what you did?”

James didn’t fight back, his hands raised in defense. “Archie, I swear, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“Not trying to hurt her?” Archie spat, his voice rising. “You’ve already done enough damage!”

“Archie, stop!” you shouted, stepping between them before Archie could throw a punch. You placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him back. “Please, just listen to me.”

Archie looked down at you, his face still twisted with anger. “Y/N, why are you defending him? After everything he did?”

“I know what he did,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “But he’s changed, Archie. He’s been trying—really trying—to make things right.”

Archie shook his head, his fists still balled. “And you believe him? After all that?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes locked on Archie’s. “Yes. I believe him. I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

Archie’s jaw clenched, his fists still balled at his sides. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he breaks your heart all over again?”

You shook your head, your voice steady. “He won’t. I know he won’t.”

For a long moment, Archie said nothing, his chest rising and falling with deep, angry breaths. He looked between you and James, his jaw tight, clearly torn between wanting to protect you and the growing frustration of watching you forgive James.

Finally, Archie exhaled sharply, stepping back and dropping his fists. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But if he so much as looks at you the wrong way—”

“I know,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll beat him to a pulp.”

Archie gave James one last threatening glare before turning back to you. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will be,” you said, looking back at James, who stood there, relief flooding his features. “I will be.”

Archie sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to walk away, muttering something under his breath about "keeping an eye on Potter." As he disappeared into the distance, you turned back to James, who was still watching you with a mixture of gratitude and awe.

“Thank you,” James said softly, stepping closer to you once more. “I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

You smiled up at him, the warmth of his presence calming the nervous flutter in your chest. “Just don’t make me regret it, Potter.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. And this time, you believed him.

It had been a few days since the Black Lake, since that quiet moment where you'd taken the first step toward forgiving James. You hadn’t fully worked through everything yet, but the weight on your chest had lightened, if only slightly. James, true to his word, had been patient. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding more than you were ready to give.

One evening, after dinner, you found yourself sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the warmth while trying to focus on your Herbology notes. You had just managed to start working through a particularly tricky chapter when a shadow fell over your table.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said softly.

You looked up and saw James standing there, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression almost shy. It was a look you were still getting used to—the quiet James, the one without the cocky grin and the easy swagger. The one who didn’t assume you’d always want to talk to him.

“Hi,” you replied, offering a small smile.

He rocked slightly on his heels, glancing around the common room before returning his gaze to you. “I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go for a walk?”

A walk? It seemed harmless enough. And you had to admit, the idea of stepping out into the cool night air sounded appealing after being cooped up with your books for hours.

You nodded, closing your notes. “Sure.”

James blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But he quickly recovered, grinning in that soft, hopeful way he had started to smile recently. “Great. Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the common room, the portrait of the Fat Lady swinging closed behind you as the castle corridors opened up before you. The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, your footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

The evening was quiet, with most students settling in for the night. When you reached the castle doors, James paused, opening one of them and holding it for you. The cold air rushed in, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of grass and earth. You stepped outside, feeling the refreshing chill against your skin, and James fell into step beside you as you wandered down the path that led toward the Black Lake.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the water. The stars twinkled like distant diamonds, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze made the night feel alive with gentle magic. It was peaceful here, under the sky, with the world around you so calm.

James cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know… I’ve missed this,” he said quietly, glancing over at you. “Being able to just… be with you.”

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight softened his features. His eyes, normally so full of mischief, were now earnest, searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I’ve missed it too,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed these moments, before everything had fallen apart—when James was just a boy who made you laugh, who listened to you, who made you feel seen.

James smiled, but it wasn’t his usual grin—it was softer, more thoughtful. “I know things aren’t the same,” he said, kicking a pebble with the tip of his shoe as you both walked. “And I know I’ve got a long way to go before… before you can really trust me again. But I’m going to keep trying. Every day, I’m going to keep trying.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart swell—this wasn’t the cocky, arrogant James who once thought he could charm his way through life. This was the James who was willing to work for it, who understood that he had to earn your trust back, one small step at a time.

“I appreciate that,” you said softly, your gaze drifting over the calm surface of the lake. “I really do.”

For a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. It was nice—just walking together, the cool night air wrapping around you both. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about this moment felt right. Maybe you weren’t fully healed yet, but you were beginning to believe that healing was possible.

After a few more minutes of walking, James stopped, turning to face you with a look of hesitant curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends what it is.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not bad, I promise. I just… I was wondering if—if maybe you’d like to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. He had asked it so simply, without any of his usual flair. It wasn’t a demand or an assumption. It was just a question—a genuine one, filled with hope but no expectation.

“You don’t have to say yes,” James added quickly, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I know things are still… complicated. But I’d love to spend some time with you outside of… all this.”

You thought about it for a moment. You weren’t sure if you were ready for anything that felt like a date—not yet. But Hogsmeade was harmless, wasn’t it? A day out, something simple, something that could help rebuild the trust you were slowly finding again.

After a moment, you nodded. “Sure,”

James’ face lit up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Really?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Really.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, or where this new path with James would lead. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—it was worth finding out.

As you continued walking beside him, the moonlight casting gentle shadows across the path, you realized that this moment, right here, was a beginning. Not a fresh start, but a continuation—something that had been broken but was slowly, carefully, being put back together.

And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to trust James again.

One small step at a time.

[solxamber]

This is Love - Riddle Rosehearts x reader

3 times he notices your acts of love and realizes it doesn't have to be grand and overdramatic like the movies, it could just be like this– sweet and considerate.

crossposted from my ao3!

You’re not speaking to him. He knows why, of course—Riddle's temper had gotten the better of him again. Another argument, another set of rules he enforced too strictly, and this time you’d had enough. He had heard the bite in your words, the frustration lacing every syllable when you told him to “loosen up.”

And yet, despite the tension still simmering in the room, Riddle can’t relax. His back is stiff as he stares at the ceiling, hands clenched under the covers. He doesn't want to admit it, but the silence bothers him. It gnaws at him, the guilt festering. He can feel your presence beside him, but the distance between you feels like a canyon.

How could he have let things escalate like this?

He hears you sigh—sharp, frustrated—and then there's a shift in the blankets. For a second, he’s certain you’ll turn away from him, shutting him out entirely. It’s what he deserves, after all. But instead, something surprising happens.

Your arm. Wrapping around his waist. Gently, deliberately, like it always does before he falls asleep.

Riddle stiffens at first, completely taken aback. His mind races, wondering if this is a trick or just muscle memory. He doesn’t dare breathe. His heart is in his throat. You pull him closer and press a kiss to his hair.

Why are you…? After everything, you still…?

He feels the warmth of your touch seep into his skin, and slowly, so slowly, his rigid posture begins to relax. His breath comes out shakily, and though his pride won’t let him say it out loud, he’s grateful. It’s your way of telling him you’re still angry, but you love him. You always do.

And with that, sleep finally finds him, nestled in the comfort of your embrace.

The cold is biting today, and Riddle feels it in his bones. He’s leaving class with you, rubbing his arms discreetly as he walks. His uniform is meant to be formal and pristine, not warm, and his stubbornness refuses to let him complain. Still, he knows you’ve noticed.

Of course you’ve noticed.

“Riddle,” your voice breaks the quiet as you hurry to catch up with him. He doesn’t even look at you, still feeling the lingering embarrassment from earlier in class.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he insists, his words clipped and precise. But the truth is, he’s shivering. His hands are numb. He’s starting to lose feeling in his fingers, and you can see it all over his face, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

In a swift motion, before he can protest, you slip off your jacket and drape it over his shoulders. Riddle freezes—literally and figuratively.

“W-what are you—”

“Take my jacket,” you say casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I can’t have the Housewarden of Heartslabyul freezing to death.”

The words hit him harder than he expects. His cheeks flame bright red, matching the tips of his ears, and he’s torn between protesting and basking in the warmth your jacket provides. It smells like you, like comfort, and he’s mortified by how much he likes it.

“...Thank you,” he mutters, barely audible, but the soft smile on your face tells him you heard him loud and clear. He tugs the jacket tighter around himself, both embarrassed and… a little touched. Maybe more than a little.

It’s late. Too late. Riddle’s been up for hours, drowning in paperwork and assignments, his brain on the verge of collapse. He’s so exhausted that even the numbers on the page are starting to blur together. Just a few more pages. He can finish this. He can—

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, he’s sitting at his desk, half-writing, half-dreaming, and the next, he wakes up with his face smushed against his textbook. His eyes flutter open groggily, his neck aching from the awkward angle.

Great. This will set him back for the entire day.

He blinks, trying to shake off the fog of sleep, and looks down at the stack of papers on his desk. The assignments are… finished? Every single one of them.

Riddle frowns. There’s no way he did all this. Is there?

“When did I finish this?” he mutters to himself, flipping through the pages. The handwriting is… definitely not his.

“You didn’t,” you say from the bed, voice casual as you scroll through your phone.

Riddle stares at you, wide-eyed and confused. “What?”

“You were practically dead on your feet, Riddle. I finished it for you.”

He’s too shocked to respond at first. His heart races, a mix of disbelief and something else—something soft, unfamiliar. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to process the way his chest feels tight, but in a good way.

“You… shouldn’t have done that,” he says weakly, though the words don’t carry any real conviction. He’s already skimming through the assignments, seeing how you’d matched his usual style of work almost perfectly.

You just shrug, grinning lazily. “Yeah, well. I wanted to.”

And there it is again—that warmth. The same feeling he got when you held him during the argument, or when you handed him your jacket. It’s starting to become more familiar, more difficult to ignore. His heart does a funny little flip in his chest as he stares at the completed work, then back at you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice so quiet he almost hopes you didn’t hear it.

But, of course, you did. You always do.

Riddle's never been great at expressing feelings that aren't tied to logic or rules. Love is messy and complicated, the kind of thing that doesn't fit neatly into the boxes he's carefully organized his life around. But there are moments—like when you wrap your arms around him after a fight, or when you lend him your jacket, or when you finish his assignments without a second thought—that make him wonder if maybe love isn’t supposed to fit into a box at all.

Maybe it’s supposed to be messy.

As he lies next to you in bed that night, your breathing steady and peaceful beside him, he finds himself unable to sleep. He keeps thinking about everything you do for him, the way you make his rigid, rule-bound world feel just a little more flexible.

“I love you,” he whispers into the quiet of the room, his voice barely audible.

You stir beside him, half-asleep, your arm lazily draping over his waist. “Love you too,” you murmur back, voice soft and groggy.

Riddle feels a weight lift off his chest, something warm and sweet settling in its place. He closes his eyes, smiling into the darkness, and for once, he falls asleep with no worries at all. Maybe this is love.

Masterlist

[pixii33]

𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋: 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘰.

The door opened without a knock, and in strode your eldest son, Aegon. His expression was one of barely contained fury, his mouth set in a hard line. He wore the black and red of his house, his silver hair shining in the light.

You didn’t rise or greet him formally. Instead, you took a slow sip of your wine, watching him like a cat watches a mouse caught in a trap.

“Mother,” he said, his voice sharp and clipped.

“Aegon,” you replied coolly, setting your goblet down with a faint clink. “Come, sit. You look as if you’ve been chewing on a sour lemon.”

Aegon���s nostrils flared slightly as he sat across from you. His jaw was tight, and his hands were clenched into fists.

“What did he do this time? Has your father’s wisdom left you choking on your own tongue?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s not wisdom he’s choking on. He’s a fool if he thinks Rhaenyra’s claim will hold this kingdom together. He’s determined to throw it all to the wolves. And for what? His precious daughter?”

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair, the wood creaking under the pressure. “He still insists on keeping Rhaenyra as his heir,” he spat, his voice brimming with frustration. “Despite all the signs—despite the whispers in the court, despite the tension between the lords—he clings to this foolish notion that she will unite the realm.”

You tilted your head, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Ah, the great dreamer, your father. One might think he’s convinced himself he lives in one of his old songs about gallant knights and wise queens.”

“Dreams,” Aegon spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he stalked toward the window, glaring out at the city below. “Dreams won’t stop the realm from tearing itself apart. His stubbornness is going to ruin us all.”

You arched an eyebrow and tilted your head, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Tell me, my dear, what’s worse: a king who refuses to see reason or a son who insists on treating every disagreement like a declaration of war?”

“I need to act, Mother,” Aegon growled. “The realm is on the verge of breaking apart, and he’s too blind to see it.”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your fingers. “And how do you propose to fix this? Drag him from his throne by the scruff of his neck? That would be quite a sight.”

He glared at you, though there was no real malice in his eyes. “This isn’t a jest.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” you replied smoothly. “But sometimes, my son, the truth is so absurd that the only thing left to do is laugh.”

Aegon’s eyes snapped back to you, sharp as daggers. “I am declaring war,” he said, his tone dangerous. “War on stupidity. Father is leaving our family vulnerable. The lords see weakness, and weakness is blood in the water. They will turn on us the moment Rhaenyra takes the throne.”

You laughed softly, amused by his intensity. “Oh, Aegon. Always so dramatic.” You paused, giving him a pointed look. “You think the lords will rise for her? The only thing these men rise for is power. Offer them that, and they will forget who was promised what. It’s always the same song, my son. Play the right tune, and they will dance to your music.”

Aegon clenched his fists at his sides, the tension rolling off him in waves. “The music won’t matter if Father continues to shield her with his blind loyalty. He treats her like she’s untouchable, like the gods themselves have chosen her to rule.”

“Ah, yes, the gods,” you said dryly, waving a dismissive hand. “A convenient excuse for poor decision-making. If we all did what the gods wanted, we’d be living in rags and begging for scraps. No, Aegon, the gods don’t care for the affairs of men. This game, this fight for the throne—it belongs to us. It always has.”

Aegon paced in front of you, his mind racing. “And yet, here I am, watching as the realm slips through my fingers because my father insists on upholding his dying legacy. Rhaenyra is weakness. She’ll tear the kingdom apart the moment she’s crowned, and he refuses to see it.”

“Your father has always been a romantic at heart,” you said with a sigh. “He’s clinging to the idea that love and family will prevail over politics. A fool’s hope, if ever there was one.”

“Fool,” Aegon muttered under his breath, his frustration clear.

You regarded him with a look that was equal parts admiration and exasperation. “Just as I expected,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Aegon furrowed his brow. “What?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. I'm just proud of my son. Ruthless, cold, but oh so clever.”

He blinked, unsure if you were complimenting him or insulting him.

You leaned back, your voice turning serious now. “Aegon, you have ambition, that much is clear. And yes, your father’s decision may well lead to war. But wars are not won by anger and frustration. They are won by strategy, by waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Aegon said through gritted teeth. “If we delay, we will lose support. The longer Rhaenyra remains the heir, the more dangerous she becomes.”

You smirked. “Dangerous? Rhaenyra? The woman has more soft edges than the pillows on my bed.”

“She’s dangerous because of the people around her,” Aegon snapped. “Daemon, Corlys, and all those who would see her on the throne. They will turn the realm against us.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Daemon is certainly a problem. And Corlys…well, his stupidity is only matched by his ego. But you are right. The lords will not stay loyal to Rhaenyra for long if they sense weakness.”

Aegon looked at you, his eyes sharp and determined. “Then we need to act.”

You held up a hand. “Calm yourself, boy. This isn’t a tavern brawl. You must act carefully, deliberately. There’s a difference between being strong and being reckless. Don’t be such a child about it.”

Aegon’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I’m not a child.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Then stop acting like one, stamping your feet because your father won’t do as you wish. He won’t change his mind, Aegon. He’s too proud and too stubborn, just like you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “Listen, Aegon. I raised you to be a ruler, not a brute. You must understand the importance of timing. Your father will not change his mind easily, but he is not your true enemy. The lords, the people—they are the ones you must win over.”

“And what would you have me do, Mother?”

You gave him a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “You show them that you are the only one who can protect them. You play the part of the dutiful son, for now. Let your father continue with his dream. But when the time comes—and it will come—you make sure the realm sees you as the only viable option. The lords are like sheep. They will follow the strongest shepherd.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed slightly, the wheels in his mind turning. “I can steady it,”

You smiled. “I know. And you will. But you have to be patient. Anger makes for terrible decisions.”

“I have no patience left for Father’s foolishness,” Aegon muttered.

“Then let him be foolish,” you replied coolly. “Let him play his hand. And when the time is right, we’ll play ours.”

“And what if the time never comes?” Aegon asked, his voice low, full of doubt.

You smiled, leaning back once more. “Oh, it will. It always does.”

Aegon stood there for a moment, visibly wrestling with himself, before he let out a long breath and sat down across from you. “You’ve always had more faith in my future than I have.”

“I trained you for this, didn’t I?” you said dryly. “I didn’t raise a fool. Nor did I raise a man who lets his temper dictate his choices. You should know that the moment you act out of rage, you’ve already lost.”

Aegon’s lips twitched, the tension in the room easing slightly. “So, I’m to be the calm one, while everyone else runs around like fools?”

“You are to be the calm storm,” you corrected. “Let them think you’re passive, let them underestimate you. The realm is full of fools, but we are not among them.”

Aegon finally allowed himself a small, grim smile. “You’re far more ruthless than anyone may think, Mother.”

You raised your goblet in a mock toast. “I take that as a compliment.”

He nodded, his resolve clearly strengthening. “I’ll bide my time, then. But when the time comes—”

“When the time comes,” you interrupted smoothly, “you’ll be ready. And the realm will kneel to you, as it should.”

Aegon stood, the weight of your words settling comfortably on his shoulders. “I’ll see to it.”

You watched him head toward the door, then called after him. “Aegon.”

He paused, glancing back at you.

“Don’t be afraid to smile,” you added with a wicked smirk. “It unsettles people when a king looks like he’s already won.”

Aegon chuckled, a rare sound, but one that left the room with more tension released than when he’d entered.

As he left, you leaned back in your chair, sipping your wine and staring out the window again. The game had been in motion for years, and your son had finally learned how to play it.

“Well,” you murmured to yourself, “this should be interesting.”

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[rizzanon]

Background Info 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke Centered)

I think your relationship with Tim is more complicated than you wanted it to be. When he first came about to the family, he was the reason you found out about your family’s secrets. The ones that they’ve been hiding from you from the start. And for some reason, as a kid, you didn’t know whether you should be thankful, or hate him for that.

Why? Because the truth was a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had always felt like something was off about your family—the late nights, the unexplained bruises and injuries, the way they avoided topics like they were landmines. Tim revealing the truth was like solving a puzzle you didn’t know you were piecing together. But on the other hand, the truth came with a weight you hadn’t been prepared for before.

A part of you wanted to be grateful—Tim had given you the truth when no one else had. But another part of you couldn’t help but resent him. It was as if he had stolen the illusion of normalcy you clung to, replacing it with danger, secrets, and an overwhelming realization how much more you actually needed to do to get the approval of your family.

For the first few months of Tim being Robin, you didn’t see him as anything other than Jason’s replacement.

Jason had been your brother in every sense of the word. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when the rest of the family was too caught up in their own world to notice you. So when he died, it left a gaping hole—not just in the family but in you. When Tim came along and slid into Jason’s place like it was as simple as filling a role, it was hard not to hate him for it.

You avoided him at first, ignored all of his attempts to be friendly or cordial. You refused to acknowledge him as anything other than “the new Robin.” You knew it was childish, but you were only 12 then. It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but grief doesn’t lend itself to rationality. Eventually, though, you started to let go of that resentment. He wasn’t Jason, but he wasn’t trying to be him either. He was just Tim.

So, you decided to try. He was close to your age, after all, and you figured, at the very least, you could be friends. But Tim didn’t seem to feel the same way. To him, you were Batman’s daughter, that was it. He kept things polite and distant, never letting you close enough to feel like anything more than an acquaintance.

That dynamic didn’t really shift until the death of his father. When Jack Drake was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Bruce formally adopted Tim, you felt for him in a way you hadn’t before. Losing a parent was a kind of pain you couldn’t imagine, and for the first time, you saw him as more than just “the new Robin”. You pitied him.

You tried to comfort him, offering him a shoulder to lean on and small acts of kindness. But Tim didn’t want your pity. If anything, it seemed to make him pull away even further. He started treating you less like family, and more like a roommate—someone he tolerated living with but didn’t go out of his way to connect with.

You didn’t push him. If that’s what he needed, fine. But you still wanted to be close to him, so you found other ways to try. You’d ask him for help with missions and cases, knowing how smart and capable he was, hoping it might bridge the gap between you. For a while, it worked—or at least, it felt like it did. But over time, Tim’s frustration began to show. He never said it outright, but his body language spoke volumes: the tight set of his jaw, the way he’d sigh when you approached, the way his answers grew shorter and more clipped.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

And that’s how it’s been ever since. The two of you drifted into a rhythm, more like estranged colleagues or roommates than siblings, or in the very least, friends. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different, if you had acted differently from the very start.

When Cassandra first joined the family, you were slightly excited because, for the first time, you had a sister. An older one, in fact. It felt like a chance to have someone who might understand you in a way the others didn’t.

But then you found out that she didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak, write, or even read. The excitement you felt faltered, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. How were you supposed to bond with someone when you couldn’t even talk to them? At the time, you didn’t fully understand the extent of her struggles or the horrors she had endured. All you saw was the surface—a girl who communicated through body language and a few cryptic gestures.

At first, you weren’t sure how to approach her. Conversations were one-sided, and you found yourself rambling awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. She would watch you intently, her dark eyes seeming to take in every word, every movement, but she never responded. It made you feel exposed, like she could see through every layer you tried to hide behind.

Still, you tried. You offered to help her learn, even though you weren’t exactly the best teacher. You’d leave sticky notes with simple words written on them, hoping she’d start to recognize them. Sometimes she’d glance at them, but other times, she’d brush past them as if they weren’t there.

It was disheartening at first, but then there were moments that gave you hope. A small smile when you handed her something. A nod of acknowledgment when you rambled about your day. Slowly, you began to realize that Cassandra spoke volumes without ever saying a word.

But even as you grew to understand her, there was a part of you that wondered if she ever really saw you the same way. She bonded so quickly with Bruce, with Barbara, even with Tim. They seemed to understand her in ways you couldn’t, and it made you feel like an outsider all over again.

You wanted to be close to her, to have the sisterly relationship you’d always imagined, but it felt like you were chasing something that was always just out of reach. Cassandra was kind, patient even, but there was always a distance—an invisible wall that kept you from getting too close. You weren’t sure if it was something she put up or something you did.

But when she was getting mire familiar with speaking and reading, you noticed that she started to avoid you. Subtly. Cassandra didn’t see you as someone to guide or protect. In her eyes, you were fragile, someone who didn’t belong in the same world of violence and shadows that had shaped her. She didn’t want you to go down this path, in a way, she wanted you to live your life away from this.

But that’s not what you wanted. When you tried to train with her, hoping to gain her approval, she’d effortlessly disarm you, her movements almost lazy. “Not ready,” she’d say bluntly, walking away without further explanation. You were left feeling small, unworthy. And in a way, that sparked the initial tension between you and her.

As the years went by though, you hated that you were feeling jealous over the fact that your father seemed to see Cassandra as more of a daughter than with you. You’ve seen the way they bonded, seen the way Bruce’s usually stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly when Cassandra was around. It wasn’t like he ignored you, but it was different. With Cassandra, there was a shared understanding, an unspoken connection forged in the language of the battlefield—a language you never quite mastered.

You tried to convince yourself it didn’t bother you. After all, Bruce was distant with everyone, wasn’t he? But the more you watched him mentor her, the more you saw the effort he put into helping her grow—not just as a fighter, but as a person—the harder it became to push those feelings of inadequacy aside.

Cassandra, for her part, didn’t seem to notice how much it hurt. Or if she did, she didn’t say anything. She was focused, always pushing herself to be better, stronger, faster. And you… you felt like you were standing still, trying to catch up but never quite reaching her.

The jealousy festered quietly. You hated feeling that way toward her, especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong. She deserved Bruce’s attention. She deserved to be seen. But so did you. And no matter how hard you tried, it felt like you were always coming up short in his eyes.

Over time, you started pulling back. You stopped asking her to train with you. Stopped leaving notes or trying to initiate conversations. Instead, you kept to yourself, throwing yourself into missions and tasks that didn’t involve her or Bruce. Maybe if you worked hard enough, fought hard enough, they’d finally see you as an equal.

But the distance didn’t fix anything. It only made the loneliness worse. You missed the small moments with Cassandra, the fleeting smiles and quiet nods. And even though you’d never admit it out loud, you missed the rare moments of connection with Bruce too.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to bridge the gap between you and Cassandra—or anyone in the family, for that matter. You were stuck in a cycle of trying too hard and pulling away, and no matter what you did, it never felt like enough.

And as for Stephanie, you two have never actually been close. At first, you just saw her as Tim’s girlfriend, and that was it. You didn’t pay her much attention beyond that. But things shifted dramatically when Barbara and Dick allowed her to take up the Batgirl mantle while your father was “dead.”

The first time you saw her in her version of the Batgirl costume, it felt like the world stopped. That symbol, that legacy—it was supposed to mean something, and seeing her wear it felt like a betrayal. Dick brought her along as Batgirl during his time as Batman, with Damian as his Robin, and the sight of them together cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

You felt replaced. Tossed aside. Forgotten. And that feeling lit a fire in you—a desperate, burning need to prove that you deserved to be Batgirl more than Stephanie ever did. This wasn’t just about the costume or the name; it was about everything it represented. Respect. Recognition. Family.

So, yes, it became a one-sided rivalry, fueled by jealousy and betrayal. You trained harder, worked yourself to the brink, but no matter how much you pushed, it never felt like enough. Stephanie had been doing this longer than you had, and her experience showed. But that didn’t make it sting any less when you watched her work alongside Dick and Damian with an ease you couldn’t seem to replicate.

When your father returned, you thought things would change—that maybe this would be your chance to finally step into the role you’d been striving for. But even then, Stephanie remained Batgirl, and Bruce seemed to call on her more often than he did you. For recon missions, patrols, you name it—she was his go-to. It hurt, deeply.

And when Stephanie eventually stepped down from being Batgirl to return to her original mantle as Spoiler, it didn’t bring you the satisfaction you thought it would. You didn’t “win.” There was no triumph, no validation that you were the better Batgirl. Stephanie left on her own terms, and that only made it worse.

You felt like you’d lost. Lost the unspoken competition you’d waged in your own head, lost your chance to prove your worth. And that sense of failure—it ate away at you, leaving behind a bitterness you couldn’t shake. Instead of quelling your insecurities, it only made them worse, fueling a toxic cycle of self-doubt and a relentless need to prove yourself.

Maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe you and Stephanie could’ve been friends, allies even. But the weight of your own jealousy and toxic mentality made that impossible. You wanted to reach out, to connect, but every time you tried, that voice in your head reminded you of all the ways you’d fallen short. And so, the distance between you and Stephanie only grew, just like it had with everyone else.

As for Damian, your relationship with him has always been a mixed bag. When he first showed up at the manor, you didn’t know what to make of him. He was brash, arrogant, and entirely too confident for someone so young. At first, you thought he was just some spoiled brat with a superiority complex. And honestly? You weren’t far off.

He didn’t waste any time asserting himself, loudly proclaiming that he was the true heir to Batman’s legacy and making it clear he saw you as competition. Not a sibling, not even an ally—just someone to outmatch. He called you soft, mocked your fighting skills, and dismissed your efforts to keep the peace as weakness. It was exhausting, to say the least.

At the same time, though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He’d been thrust into a completely unfamiliar world, taken from the League of Assassins and dropped into the Wayne family chaos. It was clear he didn’t know how to connect with anyone, and for all his bravado, there was something lonely about him.

You tried to bridge the gap at first, hoping to at least build a sense of camaraderie. But Damian made it difficult. He was quick to push you away, and any attempt to be friendly was met with biting remarks or scornful looks. Over time, you learned to keep your distance, picking your battles carefully.

What made it worse was how Bruce and Dick always seemed to take his side. When he antagonized you or picked fights, their solution was always the same:

“Be patient with him,” or, “He’s still adjusting. Give him time.”

But how could you? He was the one who started the fights, who insulted you at every opportunity. No one seemed to care about that part.

Still, as much as Damian constantly undermined you, there were moments—fleeting and rare—when you noticed something different. He wasn’t as dismissive as he pretended to be. There were times when you’d find your weapons repaired after training or your notes on a case mysteriously corrected. He never said anything about it, and you never brought it up, but you knew it was him.

Even his insults, as cruel as they were, sometimes felt… purposeful. Like he was testing you, pushing you to be better. At first, you thought it was just an excuse you made up to deal with his attitude, but over time, it became clear that his criticism wasn’t entirely baseless. Damian had a way of pointing out your flaws in a way no one else did—harshly, yes, but sometimes accurately.

As the years went on, your dynamic shifted. The outright animosity faded, though it never disappeared entirely. There were still arguments, snide remarks, and moments where you swore he was intentionally trying to get under your skin. But there was also a strange, unspoken understanding.

You’d never call yourselves close. You’d never confide in each other or share heartfelt moments. But there was a bond, however tenuous, forged by shared experiences and blood. There was a mutual, begrudging respect that neither of you would admit out loud.

At the end of the day, Damian was still Damian. He still had his sharp tongue and holier-than-thou attitude, and you still had your resentment. But underneath it all, there was a flicker of something—rivalry mixed with loyalty, disdain mixed with a reluctant sense of family. It wasn’t perfect, and it probably never would be. But it was enough.

For Duke, it’s a bit different. He joined the family relatively later than the others, and Bruce didn’t officially adopt him into the family—he only fostered him. That distinction didn’t seem to matter to anyone else, though. From the moment Duke stepped into the manor, he fit right in.

Whenever you and Duke crossed paths, he was always nice. Friendly, even. But just like with the others, there was this invisible wall between you and him. Why? You weren’t entirely sure. Maybe it was because you noticed how easily he got along with the rest of your siblings, how seamlessly they accepted him. They included him in more things, leaned on him more during missions, and spent more time with him than they did with you.

It wasn’t like you hated him for that. No, never. Duke wasn’t the problem—it was the growing realization that once again, you were on the outside looking in. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being edged out of your own family. And that hurt, both your pride and your heart.

There were moments when you tried to connect with him, telling him about a lead you’d found or an idea you had for a case. Duke always listened, but his responses left a sting. Comments like, “Are you sure you can handle this stuff by yourself?” or, “You don’t want any help?” or even, “Maybe you should get Dick or Cass to help you out with this.”

You knew he probably meant well, but those words dug deep. It felt like he didn’t think you were capable, that he saw you as someone who couldn’t hold their own. You never said anything about it, of course, but it only strengthened your resolve to prove yourself.

And maybe that was the problem. The more you tried to show him—and everyone else—that you were competent, the more strained things became. It wasn’t outright hostility, not by any means, but there was a tension that lingered between you. A mutual awkwardness neither of you ever addressed.

At the end of the day, though, Duke was Duke. You weren’t enemies, and you didn’t resent him. You were friends, at the very least. But there was always that wall, a quiet reminder that, even in your own family, you were never quite enough.

I hope this was able to effectively portrag the fact that the reader is far from a perfect person, because I don’t think I was able to show that in the first background info. I feel that growing up in such an emotionally stunted family would inevitably shape her into someone complex and flawed. She wouldn’t be endlessly hopeful or optimistic. How could she be? She’s not just some perpetually kind, selfless girl with no negative emotions. Instead, her experiences have made her someone who struggles with jealousy, insecurity, and a need to prove herself, even if it leads to toxic behavior… but i hope y’all enjoyed this part!! lmk what you think <3

Part 1 (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason Centered)

m.list

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV, Part V , Part VI, Part VII , Part VIII

Summary: By not telling Vi, you are betraying her. By telling Vi, you are betraying best friend. There is no winning here.

Warnings/themes : angst , trauma , mentions of death , smut , nsfw (+18) , face riding, fingering, swearing

Word count: 6.1k

You’d been obsessing over it for days now. The thought clawed at the back of your mind, refusing to leave you in peace. No matter how much you tried to push it aside, Vi’s story gnawed at you, whispering echoes of something you didn’t want to face. It was too familiar—too eerily close to what Faye had once told you. You tried convincing yourself it was just coincidence, that your imagination was running wild, but deep down, you knew you were lying to yourself. Not because you were paranoid, but because facing the truth meant making choices you weren’t ready for. You didn’t want to betray Vi. Whatever was growing between you two—it felt fragile, precious, and you didn’t want to lose it. But this… this discovery could destroy everything. It terrified you. Still, pretending everything was fine felt even worse. Every time you looked at Vi, guilt twisted in your gut. You couldn’t lie to her, not while the questions burned in your chest like a wildfire. You had to find out the truth about her sister, no matter how dangerous it was or what it might cost you.

But asking Vi outright? That wasn’t an option. She’d see through you in a heartbeat, and if your suspicions were wrong, it would shatter her trust. No, you had to do this alone. Someone in Zaun had the answers, and you’d find them—no matter how long it took. And so, you started to pull away from her. Slowly. Carefully. You told yourself it was better this way, that creating some distance would make things easier for both of you. But the ache of it nearly broke you. Ignoring Vi wasn’t just an emotional wound—it felt like a physical one, gnawing at you from the inside out. Every glance you avoided, every touch you refused—it all hurt like hell. Yet you couldn’t let yourself face her, not when everything about her presence reminded you of the truth you didn’t yet have.

The bar became your hunting ground. The smoky, dim-lit room was alive with murmurs and clinking glasses, the perfect cover for your search. You paced behind the counter, ears straining for any snippet of conversation that might lead you to what you needed. Every so often, you’d grab a tray and wander between the tables, serving drinks and feigning indifference. This was Zaun. Someone always talked too much if you gave them the chance.

It wasn’t until you set down a round of cheap whiskey at table five that you caught something promising.

“Now she’s acting all high and mighty, like she’s too good for us,” a burly man grumbled, puffing out a cigar.

“Bullshit,” his friend shot back. “She’s still one of us. Always will be.”

“She used to be everywhere, you know? Drinking, fighting, playing cards at every dive in Zaun. Now she’s just… gone,” the first man spat, as though the thought physically disgusted him.

The name stopped you cold. Sevika. You’d heard whispers about her before.

“She’s still a regular at Bordelle,” the second man added, smirking. “You think she’s really gone straight? Nah, she’s just playing a bigger game now.”

“From Silco’s muscle to some fancy council member. Talk about an upgrade,” a third man muttered, taking a swig from his glass.

“More like a downgrade, if you ask me,” the first guy grunted. His eyes flicked to you then, sharp and suspicious. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Forget something?”

You froze for a moment, but quickly plastered on a smile. “Oh, no,” you lied smoothly, tilting your head like you didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just new around here, and I’ve heard that name—Sevika. She seems important. Thought I’d ask who she is.” Your voice was light, your smile flirtatious, and it worked.

The man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Important’s one word for it. She’s a legend ‘round here. Used to be Silco’s enforcer, now she’s on the council. If there’s something going on in Zaun, Sevika knows about it. Hell, she probably started it.”

Bingo. If Sevika was as well-connected as he said, she’d know who Vi’s sister was—and maybe more.

“Thanks for the tip,” you said sweetly, flashing a quick smile before retreating to the bar.

Your mind was racing. Bordelle. That was your next move. If Sevika was still a regular there, you’d find her. But the thought made your stomach twist. Bordelle wasn’t just any bar—it was an underground den of vice, a place where no one asked questions and everyone had something to hide. How the hell were you supposed to find someone like Sevika in a place like that, especially when you didn’t even know what she looked like?

It didn’t matter. You had to try. For Vi. For what you had with her. For yourself.

No turning back now.

Just like that, an hour later, you found yourself standing outside the bordello. Your heart pounded in your chest, hands clammy from nerves. You had no plan—no strategy—just a goal that led you straight to this place. With a shaky exhale, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room swallowed you whole. It was dark, like walking through shadows, with thin strands of colored light spilling from the cracks of half-closed doors. The air itself felt heavy, thick with whispers and quiet laughter, distant moans blending with muffled music. It was quiet and loud all at once, a contradiction that somehow made sense here.You kept moving, your footsteps soft on the velvet-carpeted floor as you passed by room after room. For a moment, it felt like you were trespassing—each door you passed hid lives you weren’t supposed to see. But you couldn’t turn back. There was no other way.

“Need some help, pretty girl?”

The voice behind you made you freeze. You turned, heartbeat skipping as a figure approached. She was tall—almost unsettlingly so—her dark purple hair cascading down her back in soft waves. She wore a sleek black dress, the kind that hugged her frame and split high up her thigh, showing just enough to tease. Her blue eyes were striking, almost mischievous, as they roamed over you, taking you in. She didn’t stop until she was impossibly close, the scent of her perfume enveloping you.

“I do need help,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush her ear.

Her mouth curled into a smile, slow and knowing. “Whatever you need,” she purred, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder before trailing it down, the touch searing and deliberate. Then she dipped closer to whisper back. The low rasp of her voice sent chills down your spine.

“Not that kind of help, though,” you said with a sly smile, not breaking eye contact as her face hovered near yours. “I’m looking for someone.”

Her gaze sharpened, but her smirk remained. “Oh, darling,” she teased, “everyone’s looking for someone. That’s how they end up here.” She didn’t back away, didn’t make this easy.

“I’m looking for Sevika,” you pressed.

Something flickered behind those bright blue eyes. She recovered quickly, forcing herself into nonchalance, but you didn’t miss the pause.

“Oh,” she muttered softly before pulling back with another smile—still playful, though not as confident as before. “She is a regular of ours.”

Your chest tightened at her casual tone, as if Sevika was just another client rather than the person you were desperate to find. The woman tilted her head, inspecting you again, as though weighing her options.

“So,” she purred, circling you like a predator, “if I tell you where to find her, what’s in it for me?”

Your face fell. You didn’t have anything to offer—nothing valuable, anyway. Her expression said as much. For a second, you swore she enjoyed watching you flounder. Then, gathering what little boldness you had left, you took a half step closer.

“Come on,” you said smoothly, biting your lip just enough to sell the flirtation. “It wouldn’t kill you to help a pretty girl like me, would it?”The line usually worked on men—easy, predictable men—but her? Women were always harder to charm. Still, you watched her carefully as she exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly, a wry smirk creeping across her lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight,” she finally said, her tone edged with mock irritation. She leaned in, her lips barely brushing your ear as she whispered, “Room sixteen.”

You shivered despite yourself.

Before she pulled away, she glanced around cautiously, checking the corridor for prying eyes or ears. Her voice dipped low, warning. “Be quick. And careful. Sevika could crush you with one hand if she feels like it.” She grinned, her chuckle both amused and taunting. “Wouldn’t want that, would you, pretty girl?”

You flashed a nervous smile, already turning toward the hall leading deeper into the building. “Thanks,” you whispered over your shoulder before heading straight for room sixteen. Each step you took felt heavier, anticipation thick in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect when you got there, but one thing was certain: Sevika was close.

You hovered outside the door, your heart hammering against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape. The hallway was dead silent, save for the faint hum of voices bleeding in through the walls around you. This was it. You’d come all this way, and there was no turning back.Steeling yourself, you lifted your hand and gave the door a light knock. Polite. Measured. Anything but hesitant. You swallowed thickly, fingers brushing your thigh to keep yourself steady.

"Come in.”

The voice on the other side made you freeze. Low, commanding, and as cold as steel. Shivers ran up your spine, and for the briefest moment, you considered walking away. But no—you couldn’t. Not now. You pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make it creak, and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, shadows lingering in the corners like silent sentinels. A faint curl of smoke filled the air, stinging your nose. Your gaze snapped forward—and there she was.

Sevika. She sat on the edge of the bed, her forearms resting casually on her knees, one hand holding a lit cigar. The smoke wafted lazily into the air, curling around her like it belonged there. She was everything people whispered about—towering, dangerous. Her short, dark hair framed a sharp jawline, and her piercing grey eyes locked onto yours the second you entered. Those eyes were unrelenting, like they could see right through you, dissecting you without her having to say a word. Her presence hit you like a physical thing, weighty and impossible to ignore. The door clicked shut behind you, and though the sound was soft, you still flinched. She noticed that. Of course, she did.

“Never seen you before,” Sevika said, her deep voice slow and deliberate, dripping with calculation. She leaned back slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Must be new.”

New? Of course. What else would she think, seeing you standing there in this place? Her tone was laced with an unspoken assumption that made the back of your neck prickle.You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Sevika shifted. She stood up—slowly, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world—and suddenly, she was there. The space between the two of you disappeared too quickly. Your instincts screamed at you to step back, but you couldn’t—not when your back was already pressed against the door.

Sevika loomed over you now, taller than you’d anticipated. The heat of her presence washed over you, oppressive and heavy, and you had to tilt your head up just to meet her eyes. Grey steel stared back, as sharp and unfeeling as a blade. You could barely breathe, though you forced yourself to hold her gaze. It wasn’t easy; nothing about this woman was easy. And then, her fingers brushed under your chin, catching it easily and tilting your face up farther. Her touch was surprisingly controlled—not rough or forceful—but there was no mistaking how dangerous it was. She was toying with you. Testing you.

And then she said it.

“Undress.”

The word hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped, and every nerve in your body lit up at once. She couldn’t be serious—right? But Sevika wasn’t someone who joked. The look in her eyes was steady and expectant.

Your heart raced, panic nipping at your composure, but you swallowed it down, forcing your face into something neutral.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” you said, your voice quieter than you’d like but steady enough to count as controlled. You forced a small, tight smile onto your lips. “That’s not why I’m here.”

For a moment, Sevika didn’t say anything. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared down at you in that suffocating silence, those sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if to cut right through you. Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath stuck somewhere between calm and barely calm. And then she exhaled. A soft sound escaped her lips—not quite a laugh, but close. Amused.

“Oh?” she drawled, pulling back just slightly, her fingers falling away from your chin. That smirk of hers tugged faintly at her lips, something dangerous dancing behind her gaze. “You’ve got some nerve,” she continued, and her voice was softer now, like she was teasing you—mocking you. “Acting so confident when you look ready to bolt.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your chin instinctively rising just a fraction. It wasn’t the smartest thing to say, but you couldn’t let her corner you any further. Even if the confidence you threw out was nothing more than a bluff. She regarded you carefully then, the faint smirk lingering at the edges of her lips, like she was trying to decide if she found you amusing or just stupid. Those grey eyes swept over you again, trailing slowly from head to toe and back up. Every second under that stare felt like walking barefoot on glass.

“You don’t look like you have much to fake,” Sevika muttered finally, amusement tinging her tone again as she stepped back. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned away, strolling lazily across the room like she hadn’t just rattled your composure to its core. She stopped near the edge of the bed, arms crossing over her chest, her back half-turned toward you as she spoke.

“You’ve got guts.” Her voice dipped lower, colder now, a warning curling around every word. “But guts don’t mean shit unless you back them up. So tell me—what makes this so important?”

It was an opening. Not much of one, but it was enough. You took a steady breath, forcing the last of your fake confidence to stick, even though your nerves still hummed under your skin like live wire. Sevika might have been testing you, sizing you up like an opponent in a fight. But this wasn’t a game you could afford to lose—not now, not with her.

“Talk fast,” her voice rang out, sharper this time. The message was clear—your time was running out.

“What do you know about Vi’s sister?” you asked, deciding it was best to cut to the chase. There wasn’t time to dance around the subject.

Sevika chuckled, her voice rough and amused, like you’d just dragged up someone from her past she’d rather forget—or maybe couldn’t. There was something bitter in that laugh, like the taste of smoke lingering too long.

“She’s dead,” she said sharply. No hesitation. No room for argument.

You shifted awkwardly, glancing around the dimly lit room. A chair in the corner caught your eye. You didn’t know why, but something told you to sit, so you did. Maybe it was her tone, maybe it was the weight of the topic. Either way, you settled in.

“Right.” You nodded as if that simple confirmation would somehow carry the weight of the dead. “Anything else?”

Sevika arched a brow, leaning back with an air of importance. “One more question, and then you’re out of here.”

Her words made it clear—she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. You hesitated but knew this was your chance.

“How did she look?” you finally asked.

Sevika tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You sound real suspicious, you know that? What kind of question is that? You don’t know what Jinx looked like? What, were you living under a rock? Her face was plastered all over Zaun back in the day—wanted posters, graffiti. Hell, there’s even a damn memorial for her. People still dye their hair blue because of her supposed ‘heroic’ crap,” she scoffed, her lip curling. “‘Hero’ my ass.”

Blue hair. That was no small coincidence. You felt your heart start to hammer in your chest. Panic rose unbidden, and you shifted in your seat. Sevika noticed.

Her sharp eyes bore into you as she leaned forward, her voice laced with suspicion. “Why are you asking all this? What’s your deal?”

“I just moved here,” you said quickly, fumbling for the words.

“Moved here?” she repeated, leaning back with a laugh that had no humor in it. “Who moves to Zaun? You know there are better places out there, right?”

“It’s… complicated,” you murmured. “My friend is from here, so I decided to move after…” You trailed off, realizing the less you said, the better.

“Who’s your friend?” she pressed, her voice turning sharp again, demanding answers.

“Vi.”

It slipped out. You didn’t mean to say it. It was a stupid move, and the moment it left your mouth, you regretted it. Sevika’s expression twisted into something unreadable, a mix of disbelief and anger.

“If that’s true, why don’t you just ask her how her sister looked, huh? Why come here, of all places, bothering me with your sketchy little investigation?”

She was angry now, and you knew you’d worn out your welcome. Rising from the chair, you headed toward the door, your pulse pounding. You’d blown it.

“It’s hard for her to talk about it,” you mumbled, fumbling for an excuse. “Didn’t want to bring up old wounds.”

It was weak, unconvincing, but it was all you could muster as you reached for the handle. Before you could leave, her voice stopped you cold.

“She had blue flame tattoos all over her body.”

You froze, hand still on the doorknob, not daring to turn around.

“Thanks, Sevika,” you said softly, glancing over your shoulder before slipping out the door. Her eyes followed you until you disappeared down the hall. Blue hair. Blue flame tattoos. Your chest tightened, and your mind raced. Faye had blue hair. Faye had blue flame tattoos. Faye lost her parents. Faye had a sister.The parallels were too sharp, too specific to be coincidence. Vi thought her sister was gone—dead for good. Everyone thought Jinx was gone. But she wasn’t.

And now, you were the only one who knew.

Pacing through the dark streets of Zaun, your thoughts were eating you alive. The silence felt loud, your footsteps echoing as you walked in circles. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t gather a single clear idea of what to do. Every time you tried to make sense of it, the weight of your choice crushed you all over again. It was impossible—completely impossible—to choose. Faye made it clear. She was alive, but she didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not Vi—the one person she used to love most. Faye had looked you dead in the eyes when she said it: “Promise me.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, and you’d sworn to keep her secret, no matter what. You made that promise. You gave her your word.

And yet… Vi.

Vi, who had lost everyone. Vi, who carried the weight of every loss on her shoulders, burying her grief so deep you were surprised she could even walk upright. Her parents were gone. Her sister was gone. Her home, her life, everything had been taken from her, piece by piece, until all she had left was herself—and whatever scraps of hope she could hold onto. Vi never said it out loud, but you knew. You saw it. You could see how she still carried Jinx with her, like a ghost chained to her heart. How could you do this to her? How could you look her in the eyes knowing what you knew and not tell her? Keeping this secret was a betrayal in itself, wasn’t it? How could you watch her mourn someone who wasn’t dead? How could you let her suffer for no reason?

But on the other hand—

Faye trusted you. She was alive, but the only thing she wanted to do was walk away. To disappear completely. If you told Vi, everything would fall apart. Vi would go after her, of course she would. It didn’t matter what she wanted. Vi would never stop looking if she found out the truth, and God only knew what would happen when she found her sister again. Because Faye wasn’t the same person anymore. You knew that much. And you couldn’t predict what a reunion would look like—if it would heal them or shatter everything into even smaller pieces. Faye would see it as a betrayal. She’d hate you forever. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, like the streets of Zaun themselves were pulling you down, feeding off the storm of guilt inside you. Your heart raced; your mind screamed. You were in too deep. There was no clean way out. No matter what you did, someone would get hurt.

By not telling Vi, you were betraying her.

By telling Vi, you were betraying Faye—Jinx—your best friend. There was no winning here.

Somehow, while lost in your own thoughts, you realized you’d stopped moving. You were standing in front of your apartment door, blinking at it like you didn’t remember how you got there. Your hands shook as you reached into your pocket, your fingers fumbling against the keys. You just needed to get inside. To shut yourself in. To sit down and—

“Hello there, stranger.”

The voice hit you like a punch to the gut. Not now.

Your heart stopped in your chest. Slowly, you turned, and there she was—Vi—leaning lazily against the wall in the faint glow of the streetlight. Her crimson hair caught the dim light like fire, and that crooked smirk played on her lips, like she had just caught you sneaking out past curfew.

“Vi…” you barely managed to say.

She pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. “Out late, huh?” she said casually, but her voice lingered just a little too long. Her eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—studied you carefully, probably noticing the way your shoulders tensed up or the way your hand shook just slightly against the keys.Your heart dropped like a stone, heavy and unrelenting. You could barely breathe. You couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Her standing here, looking at you like that, made everything feel so much worse.

“Could say the same for you,” you muttered quickly, trying to sound normal.

She tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. That was the thing about Vi—she always knew when something was off. “You good?” she asked, a hint of concern slipping into her voice.

The question nearly broke you. Were you good? No. Not even close. The world felt like it was closing in on you, squeezing every ounce of air from your lungs.

“Yeah. Just tired,” you said. It was a lie, but it was all you could give her without falling apart.

Vi didn’t look convinced. She stayed there, watching you too carefully, too silently, like she could peel you open just by staring long enough. You couldn’t take it—you couldn’t take the way she looked at you like she trusted you. You turned back to the door, shaking the keys in your hand until they finally slid into the lock. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you turned the knob, every movement heavy with guilt.

“Night, Vi,” you mumbled, pushing through the door.

“Wait, what?” Vi mumbled, confused, as her hand shot out to catch the door before you could close it. There was a crack in her voice, frustration creeping in. “You can’t be serious.”

“Vi, I’m tired,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, trying to choke back the tears building in your throat. “We can talk tomorrow, okay?”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said sharply. Her voice cracked just enough to make it clear how much this hurt her. “We both know that.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you like a blow. You couldn’t look her in the eye. You couldn’t even speak. “Vi…” you mumbled weakly, taking a step inside the apartment, your hand still on the door. You couldn’t shut her out, but you couldn’t let her in either. All you could do was stand there, torn apart, staring at her like the words you needed were caught somewhere unreachable.

Her brows furrowed, her frustration sharpening as her voice grew louder. “I’m not stupid, you know that, right?” she snapped. “Since that night. Since I told you about my past, you’ve been—” She exhaled sharply, cutting herself off. “You’ve been different. Like a completely different person.”

She was stepping closer now, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the Vi you’d met at first—the Vi who was angry at the world because the world had taken everything from her. But there was something else now. Beneath the edge, there was a raw sadness that hurt even more to hear.

“Everything was going great,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly, “and then suddenly, you pull away. You go cold. Distant. Ignoring me.”

She paused, searching your face, desperate for something—anything. It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was hurt. And that was what cut the deepest. Your silence only fueled her emotions, swirling wild and untamed. She took another step closer, and this time her words weren’t sharp; they were pleading.

“What the hell happened?” she asked again, softer this time, her voice trembling as she tried to hold back whatever storm was threatening to break. “Is it me? Did I say something wrong?”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly bled. Your head screamed at you to say something—anything—but you were frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. Every part of you was screaming to reach out to her, to close the distance, to show her somehow that you still cared, that this wasn’t her fault. That none of this was because of her. But how could you? How could you explain something she wasn’t ready to know? That she couldn’t know?

Her voice wavered, sadness bleeding into every word. “Is it something from my past? Is that it?” she pressed. “Does knowing what I’ve done make you think different of me now?”

The air felt heavy—too heavy to breathe. She was breaking right in front of you, and still, you couldn’t say a damn thing.

Her frustration boiled over again, her voice rising, desperate now. “Just tell me!” she shouted, her fists clenching at her sides before her shoulders dropped, exhaustion taking over. “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me that you don’t want me anymore and—” She cut herself off, her breathing uneven as she wiped at her face. Then, quietly, heartbreakingly, she whispered, “And I’ll be gone. You won’t have to deal with me anymore. You’ll never see me again. Just… say it.”

And then it happened.

You saw it.

The tear you’d been so afraid to see, sliding down her cheek, clinging there for just a second before falling. The Vi who never let her guard down, who carried herself with strength and stubborn pride no matter what life threw at her—she was standing in front of you, breaking.

And you’d done it.

You’d broken her.

That single tear felt like it had taken a piece of your soul with it. Your chest constricted painfully, like every breath you took now was something you didn’t deserve. Your silence wasn’t protecting her. It wasn’t sparing her pain. It was tearing her apart. YOU were tearing her apart. Vi wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just sad. She was devastated. And somehow, in all the mess of trying to protect her, you had done the exact thing you’d been terrified of from the start.

You were hurting her.

Your hands shook as they clung to the doorframe, your throat closing up tighter with every passing second. You were doing exactly what you feared most—letting her get too close only to rip her apart in the end.

But as much as you wanted to give in, to tell her the truth, there was still something holding you back. You couldn’t let her go now. Not ever.

Instead of speaking, instead of giving her the answers she so desperately wanted, you acted-your body moving before your mind could catch up. You crashed into her, pressing your lips against hers with a fire that had been bottled up for too long. The kiss was deep, desperate, and hungry, every bit of unspoken emotion spilling into it like a wave breaking over a cliff. Your hands flew to her face, holding her as if you were terrified she might slip away, as if this kiss was the only way to tell her that she mattered, that you couldn't let her go.

Vi didn't hesitate. She didn't hold back.

Her lips pressed into yours just as hard, just as greedy, as her rough hands roamed across your back and over your waist, clutching at you like you were the last thing keeping her tethered to this world. You melted into her, letting her take you, kiss you, own you in a way only she could. You broke apart for air, breathless and dizzy, but before you could blink, her lips moved lower, trailing their way across your jawline and then down to your neck. Each kiss she placed was slow but burning, leaving soft marks as if to claim every inch of you.

You shivered as her hands gripped you tighter, holding you close as if afraid you might slip through her fingers. She pressed her body closer to yours, and in an instant, her leg shifted between your thighs, pressing her knee into you just enough to send shocks of pleasure racing through you.

A small moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you felt her smirk against your skin. Her lips trailed back to your mouth, and this time, when she kissed you, her tongue slipped past your lips, exploring, tasting you, and making you all the more breathless. She was relentless-hungry-and you matched her, pulling her even closer as if trying to mold yourself into her. Before you could register what was happening, Vi's strong arms lifted you effortlessly, pulling you up against her as she began moving toward the bedroom. Your legs wrapped

instinctively around her waist, her neck becoming your next target as you kissed her with the same hungry desperation she gave you. Your lips nipped at her skin, leaving marks-a trail of red marks along her neck and collarbone.

"Fuck," she groaned softly, the word dripping with lust as she stumbled into the bedroom, her control breaking piece by piece. She threw you onto the bed with a mix of strength and tenderness, her body hovering over yours, her chest rising and falling as she stared down at you.

For a second, there was a pause-Vi's gaze burning into yours. Her expression softened as she took you in. In that moment, it was painfully clear how much she missed you, how much this moment meant. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest smile before she got to work, her fingers trailing to the hem of your pants.

Without breaking eye contact, she started unbuttoning them, taking her time, teasing you, making every second feel like torture. You couldn't wait. Your fingers went to the bottom of your top, tugging it off and throwing it somewhere forgotten. The cool air made you shiver y ther eyes on you set your skin atlame. Her gaze lingered on your chest for just a moment before she smirked, pulling your pants off with ease, leaving you exposed before her. Without missing a beat, you grabbed the her top, lifting it up and over her head. Vi grinned, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were, before stepping back just enough to slip off her own pants.

The moment fabric was no longer between you, the world seemed to fall away. Skin to skin, inch to inch, you could feel everything. Her warmth, her breath, her strength-it consumed you completely. She wasted no time, her lips pressing back to your neck, kissing, biting softly as she trailed down toward your chest. Vi cupped one of your breasts, her fingers rough but her touch tender. When her tongue met your nipple, you gasped, arching into her. She teased you-circling, flicking, sucking-sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve in your body. You moaned, unable to stop yourself as she grinned against your skin.

You wanted her just as much, and you didn't plan to let her take control of everything. Shifting slightly, you moved your knee up between her legs, feeling just how wet she was for you. The sound that left her lips-a deep groan, filled with need-made your stomach tighten.

"Fuck," she breathed out, pressing herself harder against your leg as her hand slipped between your thighs.

"You're making me crazy."

Her fingers traced up your folds slowly, teasing you, spreading your wetness everywhere. A low whine escaped your throat, your hips tilting into her touch instinctively. She pressed down on your clit, circling it with care, her pace slow at first, almost tormenting. You moaned louder as pleasure coiled in your stomach, tilting your head back. Vi noticed, and that playful glint flashed in her eyes. Her fingers trailed lower, slipping inside you, cool against your heat. The way she moved was both gentle and rough, curling her fingers with precision, hitting every spot that made you gasp and squirm beneath her. Your body burned as she worked you up, her pace growing faster and rougher with each passing second. You could't take it anymore, digging your nails in her shoulders, desperate to hold on to something as you lost yourself completely to her touch. She suddenly pulled away, sitting back on her knees as she stared down at you-naked, flushed, and completely hers.

Her gaze was smoldering, and before you could move, she slipped her two fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean, tasting you. "You taste so fucking good," she muttered, voice heavy with want.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Vi held out her hand, guiding you gently until you understood what she wanted. Seconds later, you were on top of her, her hands gripping your thighs, pulling you upward, and settling you over her mouth. The strength in her hands-the sheer need in her grip-made you dizzy. You didn't hesitate, spreading your legs and letting yourself settle against her lips. Her mouth was hot, her tongue pressing into you slowly at first, teasing you. You tilted your head back, gasping as she buried herself deeper, her tongue working fast and rough as her nose pressed perfectly against your clit.

"Vi," you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath. She groaned against you, holding you in place as you began to move, grinding slowly against her mouth. Your pace grew frantic as her tongue slipped deeper, her hands pulling you down harder, her groans vibrating against you.

It was too much.

"Fuck, fuck," you nearly screamed, your fingers tangling into her hair as your body tensed, pleasure hitting you so hard you nearly fell apart. You collapsed onto the bed beside her, your body spent, the room spinning around you. Neither of you said a word, breathing heavy and hearts racing as she wrapped her strong arms around you, pulling you close. She smiled, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes, but there was something more there. It wasn’t just playful teasing or a flirtatious look—it was deeper, raw, and real. Her smile, though teasing, didn’t quite reach the heaviness in her gaze, like there were unspoken words lingering between you two, words you both knew but hadn’t said aloud yet. You knew exactly what it was. You’d felt it too, though you hadn’t dared to admit it until now. The unspoken bond between you two wasn’t just desire—it was something deeper, something more complicated. It was connection, raw and undeniable.

Author's note : okaaaay this is a long chapter. What do you think about it? I have been thinking about this chapter for so long, it has been a hard one to write. Do you like how's everything turning out? Please let me know! Don't hesitate to dm me if you have something to say, I would love to listen to you. I love torturing lesbians lol

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series ) 05

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 004. 005. 006.

FIVE, the hollow beneath ribs.

YOU WOKE TO THE SOFT HUM OF YOUR CEILING FAN, 

your head pounding faintly from the night before. you stretched lazily, blinking against the morning light filtering through your curtains. the bed felt oddly spacious, and you turned your head to confirm what you already suspected, rafe wasn't there. carter, on the other hand, was still sprawled out on the floor, tangled in blankets, snoring lightly.

you sat up slowly, your movements careful, and rubbed your temples. a hangover cure was the first priority. sliding out of bed, you tiptoed past carter and made your way downstairs. on the way, you passed the guest bedroom rafe usually stayed in and glanced inside. it was empty, the bed untouched.

your brows knitted together, a flicker of confusion sparking in your half-asleep mind. shrugging it off for the moment, you made your way into the kitchen. the smell of alcohol still clung to the air from the night before, you cringed at the sight of the house and wiped down the stove top. you set a pan on the stove and began cracking eggs into a bowl, tossing in a few strips of bacon and hash browns once the pan was hot.

as the food sizzled and filled the room with a rich, savory smell, the front door creaked open. you turned, spatula in hand, to see rafe stepping inside. he was wearing the same clothes from the party, his hair slightly mussed, and he avoided your eyes at first, brushing past you toward the counter.

"where were you?" you asked sharply, your voice low but pointed. your eyes scanned his face for clues, but he was annoyingly hard to read, as usual.

"just out," rafe muttered, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the tap. he drank it in one go, his back to you.

"out where?" you pressed, taking a cautious step closer.

he finally looked at you, his expression unreadable. "relax. it's not a big deal."

before you could push further, carter's footsteps thudded down the stairs, cutting through the tension. he appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair a mess and his face still puffy from sleep. "is that bacon i smell?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

you sighed, turning back to the stove and letting the subject drop for now. "yeah, sit down. food's almost ready."

rafe smirked faintly as he slid into a chair at the table. "you're spoiling us, didn't know you were so domestic."

you shot him a look over your shoulder but didn't respond, your mind still turning over his mysterious absence. you served up plates of bacon, eggs, and hash browns, sliding one in front of each of them before sitting down with your own.

as they ate, carter filled the silence with lazy chatter about the party, laughing about how someone had nearly fallen into the pool fully clothed. you nodded along, but your eyes kept darting toward rafe, your suspicion lingering like a shadow.

he caught you staring once and raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as if to say, what's your problem? but you didn't rise to the bait. instead, you silently decided to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day. whatever he was up to, you weren't going to let it slide unnoticed.

the cleanup was gruelling, the aftermath of the party revealing itself in every corner of the house and yard. empty cups and bottles were scattered across tables, the faint smell of beer still clinging to the air. you, carter, and rafe moved through the chaos like a reluctant cleaning crew, each tasked with a section. you found herself around the pool, collecting forgotten items; someone's jacket, a pair of sunglasses, even a lone flip-flop.

you glanced over at rafe, who was lazily tossing garbage into a bag. your suspicion bubbled up again, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

"so, are you gonna tell me where you went this morning?"

rafe froze, his jaw tightening before he slowly looked up at you. "not this again," he muttered, shaking his head.

"yeah, this again," you shot back, crossing your arms. "you disappeared. you come back acting all shady. what's the deal?"

he let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humour in it. "maybe i don't owe you a play-by-play of my life."

"you're staying under our roof," you said pointedly, your voice rising slightly. "the least you could do is not sneak off to fuck-knows-where without a word."

"god, you're such a control freak," he snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet of the backyard. "maybe that's why no one ever invites you to stuff unless carter drags you along. you don't know how to loosen up unless you've got a drink in your hand."

you blinked, the words hitting harder than you wanted to admit. your hands clenched into fists at her sides, and for a second, you thought about throwing one of the empty bottles at his stupid face.

"you're such a piece of shit, rafe," you said instead, your voice low and venomous. "you don't care about anyone but yourself. no wonder you end up at places like barry's, completely out of it. maybe if you weren't so desperate to ruin your life, people would actually give a damn about you."

he shook his head, face darkening, "you're such a bitch." his lips pressing into a thin line. without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked off, the trash bag swinging at his side. you watched him go, your chest heaving with anger and something else you didn't want to name.

same old rafe, you thought bitterly, tossing the last of the garbage into a bin. always running, always destructive.

it took another hour to finish cleaning up, and by the time they were done, you were exhausted. you flopped onto the couch and put on a random tv show, barely paying attention as you scrolled through your phone.

"we're heading to the club," carter announced, appearing in the doorway with rafe trailing behind him.

"have fun," you replied without looking up.

"you sure you don't wanna come? maybe play a few holes?"

"pass," you said curtly, her gaze fixed on the tv.

carter shrugged, and they left. you didn't even glance at rafe as he walked out the door, though you could feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

once the house was quiet again, you let out a heavy sigh and made your way upstairs. sitting on the windowsill of your bedroom, you packed a bowl and lit it, the sharp smell of weed filling the room. you blew the smoke out into the crisp air, your mind spinning before lighting her lavender candle. 

what's with him lately? you thought, leaning your head back against the frame. you hated that you were even worried about rafe cameron of all people. but the memory of him at barry's, glassy-eyed and reckless, stuck in your head.

"he gets himself into this mess," you muttered under your breath, taking another hit.

and yet, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. 

your head was heavy from the weed, but it wasn't doing enough to numb the constant churn of your thoughts. your finger tapped rhythmically against the lighter, flicking it open and shut, the small spark of flame giving your hands something to do. anything to distract you from replaying the morning's argument over and over in your head.

rafe's words had this way of slicing right through you, like he wasn't even trying. it wasn't just what he said but how he said it, the sharpness in his tone, the way his eyes cut into yours as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience. you hated him for it. you hated that he could get under your skin so effortlessly, that he could leave you standing there, fuming, long after he'd stormed off.

but what annoyed you even more was that beneath all that anger, you still felt something else. a pull you didn't want to acknowledge, something softer that made your stomach twist.

rafe cameron was trouble. you'd known that for years. everyone did. sarah had told you that a million times growing up. "stay out of his way. rafe's not just destructive- he's dangerous." and you had listened. or at least, you'd tried to.

but it was impossible to avoid someone like rafe. he had this presence, this energy that demanded attention. he walked into a room and everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not. his reputation was loud and clear; the king of kooks, the cameron family's untamed problem child.

ignorance was bliss for the parents of figure eight, and ward cameron was no different. as long as rafe didn't make enough noise to embarrass the family name, who cared what he did in his spare time? who cared how many bridges he burned or how many lives he left in his wake?

and yet, there was something about him that people couldn't look away from. you hated yourself for admitting it, but rafe cameron had a magnetism that was hard to ignore. it wasn't just the way he carried himself, like the world owed him something. it was the danger in him, the unpredictability.

you'd seen it firsthand, countless times. the way he'd tear someone down without blinking, the way he'd cross any line if it meant getting what he wanted. he didn't just pass by obstacles, he demolished them.

he wasn't a mystery. not really. everyone knew what rafe cameron was: cold, calculated, cruel. he carried himself with this untouchable arrogance, and it made your blood boil every time you were around him.

but then there were moments, brief, fleeting moments, where that mask of his cracked. like the night you'd saved him from barry's, too high to make a snarky comment, stumbling to the spare bedroom in silence. or the way he'd talked to you by the pool before the party, promising you softly that everything would be fine.

this morning had been a different story. his anger, his defensiveness, it was familiar, the rafe you'd expected. but there was something else there, too. something deeper you couldn't quite name.

you hated how your mind kept circling back to him, like you were trying to figure out a puzzle you didn't even want to solve. rafe cameron wasn't your problem. he wasn't your project or responsibility.

but then why couldn't you stop thinking about him? why did you feel this nagging concern for someone who clearly didn't deserve it?

"he's not all that," you murmured under your breath, the words hanging in the still air of her room. because you'd seen it now, hadn't you? under the bravado, the cruelty, the cocky smirks, there was something else. something fragile and broken.

you inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs, hoping it would drown out the noise in your head. rafe cameron was a mess. a dangerous, destructive mess. but you couldn't help the part of you that wondered what he might look like without all the walls he'd built around himself.

you were curled up on the couch, a plate balanced on your lap as you quietly ate dinner and flipped through a book. the faint hum of the kitchen fan was the only sound in the house, the rest of the food still sitting warm on the stove and counter, waiting for carter and rafe to stumble back from whatever chaos they'd brewed at the country club.

you were halfway through a page when the front door creaked open, followed by a thud. carter's voice, strained and breathless, muttered, "jesus, rafe, help me out here."

you set your plate down, standing as carter struggled to drag rafe into the house. rafe was draped over carter like dead weight, giggling and mumbling under his breath. his words slurred together, something about "the perfect swing" and "stupid ties."

"oh my god," you said softly, watching as carter manoeuvred rafe toward the couch.

"don't even start," carter said, gritting his teeth. "he's... completely gone. i didn't know what else to do. he nearly got us banned from the country club. they threatened to call ward, but i got us out of there."

rafe flopped onto the couch with a heavy thud, his head rolling to the side, eyes half-open and unfocused. you blinked, unsure you'd ever seen him this bad before. rafe cameron was a lot of things - loud, arrogant, reckless - but you'd never seen him this publicly out of control.

"what do we even do with him?" carter muttered, rubbing his face. "he's your problem now. i'm getting a bucket before he ruins the furniture."

you stood frozen, your arms crossed, watching as carter disappeared into the garage. rafe shifted beside you, mumbling something you couldn't quite catch.

"rafe, what are you even saying?" you asked hesitantly, glancing down at him.

his eyes fluttered open, unfocused but locking on yours for a brief moment. "you're, uh... you're kinda pretty when you're not yelling," he slurred, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

you frowned, a flush creeping up your neck despite yourself. "okay, you're done talking."

"nah, 'm serious," he mumbled, his voice drifting off. "you... you saved me or something, didn't you? or was that... uh..." he trailed off, giggling to himself.

before you could respond, carter returned with a bucket and sighed loudly. "help me get him up," he said.

between the two of you, you managed to haul rafe to the guest bedroom ensuite. he wasn't cooperating much, his legs dragging as they half-carried, half-pushed him inside.

"just leave him here," carter said, laying out a towel on the bathroom floor. "if he throws up, at least it's easy to clean."

you sighed, kneeling to adjust the towel under rafe's head as he slumped half in the bathroom and half out. you watched him for a moment, his usually sharp features soft and disheveled, his breathing uneven.

"carter," you said quietly, standing and crossing your arms. "i need to tell you something."

he looked up from where he was tossing a pillow onto the floor for rafe. "what?"

"the first night he started staying here," you began, your voice hesitant. "it wasn't just to avoid his dad. i found him at barry's... doing coke at 2 in the morning. he was so out of it, carter. i didn't have a choice but to bring him back."

carter didn't look surprised. he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. "yeah... that checks out."

"that's it? 'that checks out'?" you snapped, your frustration bubbling.

"what do you want me to say?" carter said, his voice tired. "this is just... it's who he is. he's not gonna want to change, never has."

you looked back at rafe, a lump forming in your throat. "maybe he should."

carter didn't answer, just shrugged and turned toward the door. "you coming?"

"no," you said quietly. "i'll staying here for a bit... make sure he doesn't choke on his vomit or something."

carter hesitated but nodded, leaving you alone with rafe, the faint sound of his breathing filling the silence.

you sat against the end of the bed, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared at rafe. his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting against the weight of whatever had dragged him under.

you didn't know why you stayed. maybe it was pity, or maybe you just didn't want to sit alone in the silence of the house while carter went off to do whatever.

you watched him for a while, the fluorescent bathroom light flickering faintly above them. his hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled and stained from whatever mess he'd gotten into at the country club. for someone so used to exuding power, he looked small right now, like the world had stripped him bare.

"why do you do this to yourself?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe stirred slightly, his head turning toward you. you thought he might be waking up, but his eyes stayed shut, his lips parting just enough to let out a soft groan.

"you're such a mess," you said, the words sharper this time, even though you didn't mean them to be. "and you just... don't care, do you? you don't care how it affects anyone else."

your voice cracked at the end, surprising you. you hadn't meant to let it get to you like this.

rafe mumbled something incoherent, his hand twitching against the towel. you leaned forward slightly, trying to catch what he was saying, but it was nothing, just fragments of words that didn't make sense.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair, suddenly exhausted. standing, you grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and draped it over him, tucking the edges around his shoulders like you were trying to protect him from something he wouldn't even notice.

"you're lucky carter cares enough to drag you back here," you muttered. "because i don't think anyone else would."

you didn't know if that was true. people cared about rafe, but not in the way he needed. they cared about what he could offer, the status he brought, the chaos he caused. it was transactional, always.

you turned off the bedroom light and dimmed the bathroom one, leaving the door open just enough for the hallway light to spill in. your feet felt heavy as you left the room, like the weight of the night was finally catching up to you.

as you crawled into her bed, the smell of lavender still faintly clinging to your sheets, your mind wouldn't stop racing. flashes of rafe at barry's, rafe slumped over carter's shoulder, rafe with that stupid, cocky grin when you won in beer pong together.

"he's not my problem," you whispered to yourself, trying to believe it.

but sleep didn't come easy, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you didn't really believe it.

you groaned softly as you rolled over, hearing the sound of retching echoing faintly through the house. it took you a moment to realise it wasn't a dream. you sat up, the blankets falling away, and rubbed your eyes. the groaning continued, louder now, pained and guttural.

"shit," you muttered under your breath, slipping out of bed and padding quietly down the hall.

when you reached the guest bedroom, the door was still slightly ajar, the faint glow of the hallway light spilling out into the bedroom. you hesitated for a second, then pushed it open fully.

rafe was on his knees in front of the toilet, his head half-buried in the bowl as he heaved again, his whole body shuddering with the effort. his shirt was bunched up at the back, and your eyes immediately landed on the massive bruise blooming along his left side. it was deep purple, almost black in the centre, fading to sickly yellow at the edges.

"jesus, rafe," you breathed, stepping closer with wide eyes.

he groaned, one hand clutching his ribs as he slumped back against the bath behind him, his head lolling to the side. his eyes flickered open, bloodshot and hazy, and they landed on you.

"y/n," he croaked, his voice raw and slurred. "what... what're you doing here?"

"what am i doing here? you're the one making enough noise to wake the dead," you said, kneeling down beside him slowly.

he winced, shifting slightly, and you could see the pain etched into his features. "feel like sshit," he mumbled, his words barely audible.

"yeah, no kidding," you muttered. you stood, grabbing a glass and filling it with water before handing it to him. "here. drink this. slowly."

he stared at the glass for a moment, like he couldn't quite comprehend what it was, then took it with a trembling hand.

"mmm," he mumbled. you took it as a thank you as he sipped the water, grimacing as he swallowed.

you sat back on your heels, watching him carefully. the bruise, the way he clutched his side, it wasn't from falling or bumping into something. it was too deliberate, too vicious.

"rafe..." you started, your voice hesitant. "what happened to your side?"

his eyes flicked to yours, sharp for a moment before they softened, his usual defences crumbling under the weight of exhaustion and whatever he'd been through. "don't worry 'bout it," he mumbled.

"don't tell me not to worry when you look like that," you snapped quietly, your voice harsher than you intended.

he flinched slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "jus'... had a disagreement, okay? nothin' new."

"with who? barry? your dad?" you pressed, your frustration bubbling over.

"does it matter?" he shot back, his voice hoarse but edged with bitterness.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "you can't keep doing this, rafe. you're going to destroy yourself."

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "maybe i already have."

something in the way he said it made your chest tighten, like you could feel the weight of whatever he was carrying pressing down on you, too.

"you don't have to," you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

he looked at you then, really looked at you, his bloodshot eyes searching your face like he was trying to figure out if you'd meant it.

"why d'you care?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he locked eyes with you.

you opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. why did you care? you weren't sure. maybe it was the way he looked so lost, or the fact that he was letting you see this side of him at all. maybe it was because, deep down, you knew that no one else would.

"i... don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he stared at you for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, like that answer made sense to him in a way it didn't to you.

you realised then, with a sinking feeling in your chest, that you wanted to help him. and that it might destroy you in the process.

notes ; thank you for readinggg !!

series taglist ; @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush @drewizz @6r4cie @akobx @seehowitshines @rafeswhoooreee @vbstrewbieri @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @ariivv01 @k4yr14 @ehhhitsaj @luvrcndy @domesticatedparadiiise @teleishachrisy @importantbeardcupcake @vanessa-rafesgirl ( lachesism taglist )

[dykedvonte]

I genuinely don't think Curly would be as caring for Jimmy as some people depict him in aus where Jimmy gets stuck and burned rather than Curly.

I feel like the realization would truly hit in that moment of what Jimmy did and how bad it was as Curly desperately tries to get him out of the cockpit. He's trying to break in to save Jimmy, but is he? All the thoughts in his head; Jimmy's trying to kill them all, Jimmy's trapped in the cockpit, Jimmy raped Anya, Jimmy's going to die trapped in the cockpit, Jimmy trying to kill them all because of what he did to Anya, and sort of a final Jimmy did this. Is he trying to save him or trying to figure out why? Trying to finally make him take accountability? You can't hold trial for a dead man. Does he want Jimmy to die? Not really, but it'd be easier than figuring out where they go after this. After they drag him out and get his set up in medical and Jimmy refuses to look at anyone but him.

He's the only one who is truly willing to care for Jimmy. I don't think he's keeping him alive for the same reasons, just he can't bring himself to put him down. He wants answers, he wants to be mad. This is the first time he can talk to Jimmy and not have anything spun back at him but he can't get a response. He's never really been able to but for the first time Jimmy actually has to listen and he'll never know if he's actually listening to him this time. It reminds him too much of not understanding Anya. Anya has to care for him and he doesn't want her too, she shouldn't have to but they can't just let him die, can they? Should they? It's easier than hearing him in pain but that's a reminder he did this... even if Curly allowed it to happen.

No one seems to have thoughts on it but him and Anya. They know the reason he crashed the ship but they don't get the logic. Anya does actually, but Curly has to admit he does to. Has to admit he's always known Jimmy's logic behind things, things that need to be "fixed" but he's always taken responsibility and fixed it himself. The first time he really let Jimmy take responsibility and he couldn't, he can't fix anything and Curly know he can't either. He looks at Jimmy and sees every mistake but now he's wondering how many of Jimmy's he's been tacking on to his own. How different are they?

What should he had done to stop it? Maybe this should've happened to him...

Curly doesn't like those thoughts and how they only come when he's stuck with Jimmy, like he's always done to himself. He's way too gentle when he gives Jimmy his pills, too mindful of teeth that always gave him hollow smiles. A tongue that always told half truths, while he held his own. He holds his jaw too kindly and thinks about all the times he's clenched his and smiled for his friends sake. For Jimmy's sake. Jimmy still swallows the pills and struggles, whines like it's not his fault.

He hoped it hurt.

And he's a little scared that he's a little too okay thinking that.